The Metaphorical Oracle

I’m compelled each and every morning to step upon the scale

I try to resist the calling, but always to no avail

The numbers it foretells hold a strange power over me

For they often can predict, just how my day will be

Should the number go up my day will be grim

I lose an hour to the mirror, sucking myself thin

My irritable mood will persist through the day

Affecting the choices I make on the way

Denying myself this, denying myself that

I don’t deserve anything, I’m so stupid and fat

But should the numbers go down, even just by one pound

I’ll skip out the door, new confidence found

Today I am thin, surely all can see

The radical change that has happened to me

I breeze through the day, not a care in the world

Fall into bed, a contented girl

Then one fateful morning after the oracle had spoken

I double checked the numbers and found that it had broken

No more numbers were forthcoming, the oracle had fled

I tried batteries and stamping, it was definitely dead

I went online to order more but delivery was a week!

How on earth would I last that long with no oracle to speak?

How would I know what clothes would look good?

Or whether to eat apples or chocolate for pud?

I dissolved on the floor in a heap of despair

Why was life so unfair?

Then a magical thing happened to me

A week with no oracle made it clear to see

I don’t need scales to dictate how I feel

Or keep me away from that stilton cheese wheel

I can listen to my body, which knows what it needs best

A few pounds here or there doesn’t make me more or less

I can trust my intuition and the instincts deep inside

I finally feel at peace in my skin, no reason I should hide

So if you have an oracle, please listen to my tale

It only tells a number, which is not success or fail

If the numbers make you doubt yourself and the body you live in

I suggest you take that oracle and throw it in the bin