The Poem of the Yo-Yo


Really, that’s all that needs to be said. Anyone that has followed this blog for more than a week knows that Mondays are the day of the week that are most painful for me as a yo-yo dieter.

Ashamed of my weekend. Determined for my week. Depressed. Committed. Sad. Prepared.

An endless cycle.


I decided a poem was in order.

Because, really, how can you be depressed when something has a lovely cadence and the words rhyme? A well-constructed poem can make a eulogy sound like a nursery rhyme.

So here goes:

Victoria was a dieter,
Who counted every bite.
She tracked each tiny morsel,
And logged it all by night.
She found the time to run,
She hardly ever skipped the gym.
Every effort that she could make,
Her attempt to live life slim.
Turning down a slice of pizza,
Saying no to each cupcake.
Her will power was infallible,
Her calorie allowance wasn’t fake.
She huffed and puffed and cried,
The sweat, it always poured.
Yet her body rarely changed,
The scale, she, too,abhorred.
You’d think one day she’d adjust,
And learn to love her frame.
But an act of biased futility,
Is a handcuff just the same.
And so she’ll keep on counting,
Deprivation will be her law.
Until one day she wins the battle,
When her self-doubt does withdraw.

Hoping for a good week,

~ Tori


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