Once upon a time, there was a girl who kind of didn’t like herself. She was very pale (therefore she could see almost all of her veins), very long limbed (and having long limbs while lacking coordination isn’t a great combination), her face was odd, her laugh and voice she thought were irritating, her nose had a bump at the bridge, she had a widows peak, and she thought differently and looked at things differently, and would say things that left people looking at her kind of oddly, which she was self conscious about. As she grew older though, she started to like all of those things; she grew into her limbs and liked her pale skin. The other things she sometimes didn’t like, until one day she had the thought that God had made her exactly how He thought she should be made, and He said it was good. He doesn’t made mistakes, and that quieted her heart and she became much more ok with all of her quirks. Saying that she didn’t like this or that part of herself was in essence telling God He messed up on her and that she didn’t like His artwork.
So now she was ok with herself, but she had friends who didn’t like themselves. And this made her sad, because she could see their smiles and their individual hearts, and the way their eyes crinkled when they laughed and how their lip twitched and their eyes get sparkly when they’re about to make mischief. And they’re beautiful in many senses of the word. People are art.
But often times people don’t like their own art and want to look like another piece.