Two lines are all Femir122 needs to capture a hurt most readers will recognise: you give and give, and what comes back is an insult. The poem, called "sometimes," sets one sentence of effort against one sentence of rejection. Its central idea is the unfairness of that exchange, in which kindness or people-pleasing is met with contempt instead of thanks. The name attached to the poem is a username, and nothing reliable can be said about the person behind it, so the poem has to stand on its own words.
The title is also the first word, and it is a quiet one. "Sometimes" doesn't say "always" or "everyone." It keeps the complaint modest, as if the speaker is trying to be fair. But it cuts the other way too. If this only happens sometimes, it happens often enough to need a poem, and the word makes the pain sound routine, something a person learns to expect.
Then comes "you." The speaker never says "I do everything." The poem addresses a general "you," which might be a confession dressed up as advice or an invitation for the reader to take the speaker's place. We can't tell which, and the ambiguity helps. The same goes for "them," who are never named. Judging by the text alone, they could be friends, family, classmates, or anyone whose approval matters. Withholding that detail turns the poem from a record of one quarrel into a portrait of a pattern.
The construction is simple but not careless. The two lines are almost the same length, about eleven syllables each, and the rhythm is flat and unhurried, closer to speech than to song. There is no rhyme. "Happy" and "disgusting" share nothing in sound, which suits two things that never meet. The balance feels like a ledger, one line for what you put in and one for what you get back. "In return" is the language of trade, so the unfairness reads as a bad deal as well as an emotional wound.
Inside that ledger, the word choices do the heavy lifting. "Everything" is total, with nothing held back. On the other side, "just" in "they just say" shrinks the response to almost nothing: a throwaway remark that costs the speaker's critics no effort at all. Then there is the clash between "happy," a light, round, almost childlike word, and "disgusting," which is heavy and physical, a word for spoiled food or revulsion. It is aimed at a person, not at something the person did. That is the real sting. The speaker offered actions and was answered with a verdict on their worth.
The grammar slips in the first line: "do everything make them happy," not "do everything *to* make them happy." Whether it is an accident or a choice, the missing word gives the line a breathless, spoken quality, as though it were typed in a rush. It makes the sentence tumble forward, much like the eager effort it describes. The comma at the line's end then hangs where a "but" might go, a tiny pause before the blow.
The only direct voice in the poem belongs to "them," and it appears in quotation marks. The speaker's own feelings are never stated. There is no "I was hurt" and no "I cried." The quotation marks hold the insult up like evidence, and the poem ends on it, with no reply, no comfort and no moral. The insult gets the last word, and the silence after it is the speaker's answer, or the lack of one. Because the speaker doesn't explain how it feels, readers have to supply that feeling themselves, and most can.
What makes the poem worth reading is its compression. It doesn't decorate its feeling or argue a case. It lays two moments side by side and lets the distance between them do the work. Its brevity even mimics its subject, since a single cruel sentence can outweigh a great deal of effort. It is a small, unpolished poem, but it is honest about a very common experience: giving everything does not guarantee being treated kindly, and sometimes the cost of trying is being told you are the problem.