Last Rites, poem

There is always someone better,
By margins, meters, measures,
Someone younger, someone stronger,
with more stamina, more hunger,
Vocabulated education,
or of better-bred relation,
with some idea of etiquette
and how to dress,
While I sit here in a small room,
get familiar with my doom,
give myself the last rites,
and confess.





This poem is from my collection of poems titled “Winsome Vein.” We die a little inside when we compare ourselves to others, and that ain’t no way to live. I’m a proponent of learning to like, love, and appreciate one’s self. The only person I’m trying to be better than is the person I was yesterday, and I mean that. Some days my absolute best is a lot less than the absolute best there is at whatever it is. Living with a chronic illness I learned a long time ago to let whatever my own best is, at any given moment, be enough. There’s always someone better. But there’s only one me, and there’s only one you. I believe people should learn to revel in the wonder, and the mystery, of their own being. ~ TS



Featured photo: Religious candles in a Walgreens
by Teri Skultety


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