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crave to be......

I yearn to be slim, beautiful and have dark rich curls cascading from the crown of my head to my knees. I may never achieve any of these, yet I still dream of being everything I'm not.

I never said my cravings were all positive.

Cravings turn to obsession too easily, and I'm forever fighting to hold the door fast on the demons scratching and clawing outside. Sometimes they are quiet, but they are never gone, just regrouping, yet they never think of new ways to attack, it's always the same over and over again.

As a child of the early '80s, I was supposed to grow up wanting to be blonde and tanned, but I was blonde, and had peach toned skin. I never wanted to be like my blonde dolls, it was too familiar, I lived with it every day. No I wanted hair like a ravens wing, or after seeing the «Phantom of the Opera» videos soft dark chestnut curls. Curls to loose a lover in.

Men do seem fascinated by my hair as it is, and have just now accepted that the colour I was born with is envied around the world. Does this make me proud to have a grown of gold?

No. I was born this way, I had no part in the colour, or curl. I am proud of keeping it, not giving in to trends or jealousy to have it cut, to be like everyone else.

But sometimes, I dearly wish to cut a severe fringe and dye it black.

Skin of alabaster, snowy white and soft, how long I've wanted this is immeasurable. Pink cheeks that glow crimson in heat, and blue with cold. No pigmentation, but high colour. Perhaps I should become anaemic.

Slim and trim is perceived as the same thing, so it is difficult to untangle one from the other in my thoughts.

One implies a narrow silhouette, the other fat free. They are not mutually exclusive, but neither are they interchangeable.

I wish for my body to miraculously dissolve the fat, but I yearn to have feminine curves. I will never achieve a toned body, my physiology will not allow it. Yet, still I train and walk and convince myself I see changes.

I crave chocolate, yet above this velevty decadence, I crave the sweet sour salt of a piece of dutch licorice.

Above all else, I want a peanut butter sandwich, something so simple, yet it will destroy any hope of achieving the only acessable craving.