Almost every line of this poem is a question, and the speaker is clearly frustrated by the answer other people seem to assume. "Do you think I like being like this?" is aimed at a "you", someone who may see the speaker's behaviour as a choice or a flaw. The speaker pushes back by listing what it is actually like: emotions that swing with outside events, a fear of being left that turns into panic, anger that flares over tiny things, and a habit of zoning out and forgetting what people say.
The wildfire image stands out. The anger is huge and consuming, while the speaker feels as small and fragile as a dandelion, so they seem to be swept up in it rather than in charge of it. The repeated questions build pressure, like someone who has had to explain this too many times. Then the last line, "Because I don't", drops the tension into a flat, quiet admission. The mood is raw, exhausted, and defensive, with real pain underneath.