An artist is always picked apart. I can't say "I care for people, I teach your children, I've built a bridge." 

No, for I am picked apart like a clam by a gull. 

I sometimes wish that I had the beautiful gift and calling that another has. 

I sometimes wish that I had that overall beauty of the girl down the street who has a beautiful heart, the sweetest smile and the looks of an angel. And then she has the calling to serve people in a way that I don't. To hold children and to love them. To be smart and witty, speaking because she understands and is naturally observant. To build a bridge or understand the most complicated medical explanation comes naturally. 

It would be nice if this never bothered me. 

But how could it not when you openly compare? Are you really that ignorant?

Surely you, who is so wise wouldn't be so ignorant. 

Why? Why compare me as if I'm worthless? 

Go away already. Why do you hurt me so? 

Go away and never return. 

I can't stand you. 

But never mind. I can't blame you. You are just like me. You are ignorant and dumb too. You are imperfect. So I must forgive you as well as myself. 

You are imperfect and I am an artist. Artists must live as a hermit or forever work to please another.