The Scale

 

The Scale

 

Like a creature with no eyes, the

scale never lies no matter how hard

I pray it’s wrong. Like a curse it says

I weigh more than I should. That

means defeat and I can no longer eat.

 

I’d fix that damned scale if I could, so it

wouldn’t tell the truth and it would get stuck

at my ideal weight, no matter how fat I got,

but it’s digital and won’t tell any lies, because

it doesn’t have any eyes.

 

My spirit and stomach cry out, “feed me,

feed me, fill our need, we don’t want to die,”

but I resist and suffer so much I take a bite

from my cheek and I’m surprised by the

delicious taste of my own flesh.

 

If I eat myself, I’ll never gain any weight.

Dinnertime rolls around and I swear in

despair before hunger drives me insane.

I take a bite of my arm and to my delight,

I taste better than any cow.

 

I don’t weigh myself as I once did every

time I ate. I’ll never weigh more than I

should, because I’ve eaten my arms

and legs, so I can’t open the refrigerator

door anymore or even get on the scale.

 

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