I adore poetry. I often feel like people who don’t read or understand poetry think it’s just a flowery mess of words, where writers are trying to string together something grandiose and dramatic, but that’s not true. W.H. Auden defines poetry as the “clear expression of mixed feelings,” a quotation my wonderful poetry teacher, Adrian Blevins, likes to remind us of at least once a week. Poets have the ability to create beautiful images and powerful emotions deep within their readers, whether they invoke sentiments of love or hate, or happiness or sadness.

In life, there are times when words are not enough. When events or moments are so forcefully and emotionally devastating that nothing can be said to ameliorate the situation, or to lift one’s spirits. In those moments, sometimes it is best to be left alone, or sometimes it is better to have a good cry, or have someone to talk to. There is no manual on how to deal with sadness or despair; coping mechanisms are different for everyone. When I get this way, when I feel completely blindsided by sadness or stress, and I start to get overwhelmed, I like to turn to poetry.

Poetry provides a light at the end of the tunnel for me. Reading my favorite, well-worn copies of my most cherished authors reminds me that I’m not alone. Although sometimes it can feel otherwise, I am not isolated by my emotions. Poems are utterly expressive in a way that is not always overt, and that touches readers in a different, more internal way. When you really connect with poems, they feel like extensions of your own emotional state, which is something entirely unique and utterly important. Finding something outside of yourself that reflects your inner feelings or thoughts can bring you relief and a sense of companionship, even if it is with an author or a book. It doesn’t matter how you internalize it; what matters is recognizing you are not alone.

I think poetry can often be stereotyped to be just for emotionally compromised moments, but it isn’t, despite what I wrote earlier in this piece. All of that is true, of course, but I turn to poetry when I am completely content, too. I love lying outside or in my bed, thumbing through books of poems and dog-earing the pages of ones that make me smile. Some poems make me think of my mom, or my home, and others just make me realize what a gift it can be to be alive.

I’m not religious, but when I’m reading poetry outside in the early fall, or curled up in front of the crackling fire, I feel like I can understand why people go to church or to temple. Poetry is just a way for people to connect with something greater than themselves, I think; it’s sometimes how I recognize how I am feeling when maybe I didn’t realize it before. There is a quiet comfort in having such a strong faith in something – for me, that’s a faith in the written or spoken word, in the fact that words can transport people to entirely different emotional and mental states, or create connections between people. It's a physical manifestation of beauty, of awe.