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One wouldn't expect me to be a big fan of poetry. I mean I have the vocabulary of a goddamn eight year old, for fuck's sake. How could I possibly appreciate a good poem?
I don't know. All I do know is, I can spot talent when I see it. And Dixie has got talent as a poet in spades. The only poetry I can compare hers to is the classics. E.E. Cummings. T.S. Elliot, and the like. Because very few modern poets have her kind of style.
In this book of poems, Dixie ponders the idea of love. The existence of God. And the real truth behind the escape of suicide. In the front of the book, she includes a disclaimer that states that she's not suicidal anymore. But she also says that many of these poems were written over twenty years ago, when she was in fact quite suicidal.
So the poems about suicide aren't just the ramblings of an emo goth chick. No, these poems are real. Because they were written by someone who really was suicidal. Someone who even decided how and when she was going to do it. Because her life fucking sucked. And she felt that suicide was her only way out.
I enjoyed this book, not because I love reading about suicidal girls, but because the emotion and passion was real. I felt that shit, deep in my heart. And I'm glad that Dixie has finally found a way to get some kind of happiness out of life.
