The Metaphorical Oracle

Each and every morning I 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 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

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