This life is only beautiful as you want to see.
Scars are pretty things,
or ghosts haunting the morrows.
People are monsters,
or survivors of fortified sorrows.

You can choose to smash the mirror,
gather energy to battle the reflection,
or simply put on some make-up,
cook up some affection.
And you can choose to paint the world,
here blue, there hues of pink,
or just wear colored contacts,
spray where it stinks.

It's all as you want to see.

This life is as beautiful as the comely soul inside you;
wanting to see rainbows in the darkened caves.
Or it is as ugly as the demons you hug dearly,
seeking to find wrong in the ever blooming gardens.

What is harder,
Oh, wait! What is better?
Taking a hand lens to see deeper 'till you meet some softness,
some good,
or walking with your blurred eyes
to catch black spots in all that's built white?

It's all as you want to see.