Perfectly Created, Perfectly Made


I am like a painting.

I have been hand crafted, thought out, and planned for.

I am perfectly created, perfectly made.



Every color, curve, and contour is purposeful.

Even those things that seem like flaws are deliberate.

Each component of me has been perfectly created, perfectly made.



My Creator has worked remarkably hard on me.

So why do I insist on fixing what He has done?

Can't I just look in the mirror and see I am perfectly created, perfectly made?



The world is trying to change my painting. They want to recreate it, remake it.

"Be this, be that! Change this, change that!" says the world.

But my Creator says "Listen to Me; you’re perfectly created, perfectly made."



I know now that my Creator painted me in His image.

I know now that my appearance is a reflection of my heart.

I know now that I was perfectly created, perfectly made.


This poem is about: 
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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