Some nights

Some nights i find,
myself awake,
thinking of people,
and the things i hate.

I sit and cry,
and wonder how,
it got as bad,
as to think this now.

the things Ive dealt with,
in the past,
the horrible memories,
and scars that last.

i don't understand,
the reasons why,
people get pleasure,
from the tears i cry.

nasty names called,
only so much i can take,
before i crack up,
and decide to break.