Full credit to my friend Meg, for providing the first line of this poem, accidentally, as so many people do.
Moths, are goth butterflys
by day they sleep,
seldom earn their keep
till on moon-trails at dusk they creep.
When your lost, look up at the sky,
remember, don’t worry, or ask why
from this desist,
if you persist its Life you resist.
Enter your cocoon, goth butterfly
metamorphose, then, like them you’ll fly
away, from dismay, from pain that drains,
your form transformed, washed clean, beautified
so, goth girl, boy, butterfly, dont hide,
rise up, up, fly!
Ascend and dance, your destiny’s nigh!