A Personal Tale of Weight Loss

That’s right, Ladies and Gents! It is time for another one of those endless tales of battle between gain and loss, of good and evil! Unlike for many, this is hardly a battle of epic proportions, although it is an age-old comic tragedy – or tragic comedy, as you please! It is, once more, a time to wail and bemoan the weight of a woman; the fate of the overweight. I warn you though, this is gruesome and brutal, so those of weak constitution for poor poetry are excused from the audience… And now, let us please your appetites, let us let loose the morbid tale of Laura’s Eternal Struggle!

‘Tis a tale of the peoples obese
who eternally battle the weight
of the weight, ne’er to cease:
the woe do them ever frustrate.

‘Tis a tell, I do confess,
which is never far removed
from most people’s address
of how they can e’er be improved.

Now I bring to your eyes,
your ears, the story of a maid
who herself daily did chastise
endlessly she was dismayed:

”Fat, fat, fat and ugly!” She cried,
”how can anyone love what I so
despise?” She’s sit on her bedside
and feel e’ver so mellow.

Many were men to offer advice:
”Eat less, move more! Get out
and about! Early to bed, early to rise!”
And other such things they would shout.

”Once your depression heals,”
the lady therapist sagely inferred,
”Your weight, it like so peels
sunburn off your body, undeterred.”

Some would swear ‘pon Vitamin Ds
and exercise, and willpower and zen.
(Strange how apparently the keys
are like to sadness and weight again!)

She met a nutrition expert whose
solution to her bodily war
was cleverest: ”In order to lose,
you should eat more, by far.”

Truth to be told she was not so
attracted to the idea of eating,
for her appetite was mighty low
and legal tender e’ver fleeting.

But she tried and spent frail
cash on eating well for a week
or two, or three. And it was a fail,
mostly due to her finances weak.

So she ever mopes on her bedstead
and bemoans and rests, weary
in body and soul, always shred
of self-love, her future bleary.

To this day this tragic wench
only eats enough for survival.
She waits for the woe to quench
or for the appetite’s revival.

And so, to introduce the end,
finally, for our weary legend:
there is no moral, no intend
to provide a happy ascend.

Whether a lady or a gent, have a heart:
all obese are not lazy, wretched or vile
This feeble theme I willingly part:
Make room, they’re only here for a while.

Terrible epic poetry by yours truly. Here’s a hint for the inspiration:


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Heard it through the grapevine:

It Has Been Written:

July 2011
« Jun   Aug »


And guess what!

Give me all your money:


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