The title calls her «she», yet every line is spoken as "I". That small mismatch sets up the whole poem. «She» reads like a word other people use for the speaker, a pronoun with no name attached, and the guillemets make it feel borrowed, like a quotation. The poem is her reply to being talked about instead of heard.
Its central idea is a refusal to be diminished by a label. The speaker accepts the charges against her ("I'm not right, / I'm all wrong"; "You think I'm crazy") but won't let them stand as the whole story. She explains the mood swings with "But I've been hurt," and in the last stanza she turns the accusation on the listener. If you want to end this, fine, but where were you when I was hurting?
The opening image is the most inventive. "One minute I laugh, / Another I cry" is plain antithesis, but "I'm changing colours, / Like a disco light" gives it an unexpected twist. A disco light is cheerful, public and mechanical. Nobody calls it unstable for changing colour, they enjoy it. The comparison hints at how her moods get treated, as a show for an audience. It also suggests someone else controls the switch, though the poem never says who.
The rhyme is loose, and the looseness matters. The one clean pair, "wrong" and "song", sits at the hinge of the second stanza, exactly where hurt turns into music. Elsewhere the poem works by echo. The sound of "light" comes back as "right" and then "alright", bent a little each time: the changing light, "I'm not right," "You are thinking alright." The lines are short, with two or three stresses, close to speech and to song lyrics. That fits a speaker who says she is singing.
The best line may be "No chords attached." It plays on the idiom "no strings attached", which is about commitments, and rewrites it for a singer. Her song has no accompaniment and no harmony to fit into, and she is not tuned to anyone's expectations. "That's how I like it" sounds defiant, but the idea is also a little lonely. If the poem is "this song", then it is the chordless song, a bare voice. "You don't know me, / You will never find" challenges the listener, and the last stanza's "searching" answers it.
The fairy "with no wings" is another image of loss. She belongs to a world of wonder but is missing the one feature that defines her, and she can fly only "in my sleep." Freedom exists for her only in dreams. The next two lines, "You think I'm crazy, / You are thinking alright," can be read two ways. They might be a sarcastic concession ("fine, think so"), or a sly claim that anyone who flies in her sleep is entitled to be called strange. Either way she takes the vocabulary of judgment, "not right," and wears it as "alright."
Punctuation tracks the change in her mood. The first two stanzas end on double dots, trailing off as if unsure. The third and fourth settle into full stops. The last stanza ends on a question, and the dots return at the moment of forced casualness in "Ok fine.. just tell me", where the calm sounds put on. The final question, "Who you were searching," bends its grammar, compressing "who were you searching for", and the slip sounds like speech under pressure. It also implies something sharp. The person was looking for someone, perhaps an easier version of her, and did not find her in the one who was hurting. The poem judging by its wording moves from "hurt" in stanza two, a finished wound, to "hurting" at the end, which is continuing. It stops there, with no answer.
Nothing outside the text is needed to see why the poem works. It is not polished, and it does not try to be. Its worth lies in how much voice it builds from small materials: a disco light, a wingless fairy, a pun on a familiar phrase, and a question left hanging. Many people have been told they are "too much" and then left. The poem lets one speaker answer back, and what she says is simple, fierce and unresolved.