Gretel remembers the witch almost too well,

How she was fed and fed with her belly beginning to swell.

Upon returning home, Hansel readjusted quickly,

Deciding to keep the past behind him,

But with Gretel, it made her sickly.

She would forego food for days at a time,

Then would stuff her face, oh how it felt sublime.

As her legs and stomach began to dwindle,

Her mind did too,

And she more often than not would feel rather blue.

She would look in the mirror,

Her figure looking underfed,

And would shout in triumph the lower the scale read.

Each day Gretel poked and prodded at the fat she’d yet to lose,

And when asked why she wasn’t eating, she’d use the witch as an excuse.

She hated herself,

She sometimes wished she’d been put in the oven.

She watched herself fade, her vision of health skewed,

Wishing she could be thinner, believing she then would be prettier when viewed.

Some days she struggled to stand and get out of bed,

Beautiful visions of sugar plums no longer danced in her head.

They told her she needed to gain weight,

“you look sickly,” they said,

But to be honest, instead of gaining weight, she would rather be dead.