I’ve been wondering lately… what exactly is a ‘flaw’?
flaw1 flɔː/ noun plural noun: flaws
I’ve never really cared much for ‘perfection’ especially via media’s standards. I mean if you’re talking about weight and appearance-wise; I’ve grown to deem that every person had been created different, and that in its self is beauty.
Beauty is to embrace and love yourself; both appearance and soul
Recently however, I’ve been conversing with people and somehow we always come to the topic of girls and beauty. They usually say something along the lines of: ‘You’re beautiful/Pretty/Cute!’ Naturally it flatters me, but then again… It’s not until now that I’ve truly felt insecure about myself. It makes me question what they’d think if they saw all of me. What if he saw all of it?
Would he stop hugging me if he saw my uneven skin tone?
Would he stop kissing me if he saw my stretch marks?
Would he stop loving me if he saw my scars?
Wait. It takes a moment…
To step back; to close my eyes; to breathe; to see. .. That love isn’t perfection.
Love is to accept and embrace the imperfections
And such a thing as perfection doesn’t exist. At least that what I wish to think, I wish to believe that imperfections are more important than perfections and as for all these so-called flaws covering my canvas? They’re not flaws! They’re the segments of a beautiful master piece that can tell a million different stories about one beautiful girl who has lived and survived. Then, if that gentleman arrives – and he will arrive, believe me – and he can appreciate this work of art in all its beauty, then he’s the one who shall contribute to this work of art, completing its story.
Because that’s what we are. We’re all walking canvases painted, to tell a story, to show we’ve laughed and suffered and survived, to go on to live. And this misconception about ‘flaws’ doesn’t exist, it’s exactly that. A misconception. As ‘flaws’ do not subsist in the world of true art. Each splatter of paint is worked up to represent something. Our bodies and all that comes with it represent us. Sure, we may be messy; a little rough around the edges, but we’re still masterpieces… and we will be loved.
After all, whoever liked a blank canvas?
My much beautiful Stalkers,
Let your canvases forever be imperfect… in the most stunning way….