I used to struggle with anorexia, and this is a short poem I jotted down in my phone one day. It pretty accurately represents my relationship with my scale at that time. It wanted me dead.
That number flashing back at me is all I need to know
It is my place, my value, my disgrace
At least, it tells me so.
The world will fall in order, once that number's low
But through all my pain, I can never attain
What I know is the final goal.
The obsession drags me deep into a never-ending hole
It will never cease to torment me
Until the number reads