The poem begins with a small, almost throwaway line, "dont like.1", which reads like the tail end of a social media reaction or a dislike count. That seems to set off the speaker's bigger question: does it really matter who likes you and who doesn't? It sounds like a shrug, a way of acting unbothered.
But the last stanza undercuts that calm. The speaker says that "at the end of the day" we're all alone, and then adds the sharpest line: "we don't even like ourselves." The move from other people's opinions to self-dislike suggests that the real problem was never about being liked by others. If you can't like yourself, anyone else's approval feels beside the point, or never enough.
The mood is flat, tired, and quietly bleak. There's no big drama, just short, plain lines and a casual tone that makes the loneliness feel more believable. The poem seems to hide hurt behind indifference, and then let it slip out at the end.