Ironic

This is the poem for when u lay awake at night,
and u cant sleep,
the pains too grueling,
u think u cut a little too deep...
afraid to take another breath,
afraid of life,
afraid of death....
not sure if u are crazy,
but knowing your not sane,
u just know its not right,
there shouldn't be this pain....
as you think theres gotta be more to life,
than tears, drugs, and men....
but who am i to say?
i was called a rebel by age 10.
so sick of the yelling,
sick of the tears,
sick of the wasted days,
sick of these fears....
feeling so useless,
with out a cure.
u think your misunderstood,
but i cant help but wonder-
everyone sees lightening,
everyone feels thunder,
people relate to what i say
and they say my words do them good....
so in the end,
am i really that misunderstood???