Whenever it rains you get stuck inside
And a secret comes as your brain confides
A nasty little word that eats away at your mind
And what\'s worse is that there\'s nowhere to hide
So you drop a line or two in your little black book
But another nasty secret when you come back to look
Burrows down as you pull your hair and bite your nails
And all is has to do is tell you how much you\'ve failed
But here\'s the thing: everybody\'s a critic
And it\'s the easiest job to be a nasty cynic
Try not to be so hard on yourself and do the best you can do
You\'re a pretty little poet and you\'re good enough being you