Depression.

Why do I see it so awful
That I’m inherently myself?
There are so many others, who are not
Me, and are so different, I envy
For not being me, much they do not share.
I want to be like them, I do not like my
Self. I wish I were someone else on this
Earth; someone who loved better, who didn’t
Think too grand of himself, who made fewer
Mistakes, and who always did things perfect.
I have been deceived, by my lack of sight.
My eyes see one side of the true picture,
My mind makes up the other side, and invents
Things that are not true, but they are desired.
This way, I can justify my sorrow,
And my mind can make worse my depression.
Why, oh mind, do you seek to make me hurt?
You’re there to help me survive this life, not
To end it, have you failed evolution?
This was no selective trait! Depression,
Or, at least, my own self-made depression,
Does not help me to live! Am I human?
Or am I something else, a departure from
The normal defense mechanisms of
Man, how they’ve adapted to survive living?
I believe I stumbled onto this thing,
It’s called sin. It pervades my whole body,
My mind yearns to do it, desiring those bad things
Which people hate; those qualities which are
Superficial, and do not make a man.
No, though they may be beautiful, they are
Not part of any man’s being, or soul.
But, why do I desire beauty outward,
And only forget my beauty inwards,
Which is most important, not just to me,
But to everyone?