The speaker of this poem asks a question that already sounds like an accusation: "Is that all I was?" The past tense matters. Whatever happened between her and the "you" of the poem is over, and she is going back over it, trying to work out what she was to someone who never looked past the surface. The answer is in the phrase that frames the poem, "All the wrong reasons." Its central idea is the gap between how big a person is inside and how small they can look through another person's eyes. She was valued for something real but trivial, and she was never asked about the rest.
The first image sets up the injury. "A trophy to be shown, placed on display" turns her into an object, something won rather than known. The passive "placed" is telling. In this picture of the relationship she is moved around and never does the acting. Trophies are also admired for a moment and then left on a shelf, which suggests how little attention she thinks she received.
Then comes the poem's turn, in the plain, almost blunt line "There is more to me than that." What follows is a run of natural and cosmic comparisons. She has "depth like the oceans" and "grit like the mountains," and the scale keeps growing. In "When I burn, I am a supernova" she moves from the earth to an exploding star. The next line, "When I love, I melt icecaps," is the most interesting. The two lines run in parallel, but the second quietly changes the kind of power. A supernova is violent. Melting an icecap takes warmth, slowly, yet the result is enormous. Melted ice also becomes water, so the image loops back to the oceans she began with. Her love, as she sees it, is gentle but capable of reshaping the world. The semicolons help here. They stack the claims one on another without letting the reader pause for breath, so the self-portrait feels like it is swelling.
The poem is free verse. It has no regular rhyme scheme and no steady metre, and the lines vary in length with the speaker's mood. The short, hurt opening question gives way to the confident middle, and the long final line slows everything down. That last line is a deliberate letdown: "All you wanted to know was what I used to make my hair smell like coconuts." After the oceans, mountains, stars and icecaps, the reader lands in a bathroom cabinet. The line even sounds smaller, since it is chatty, rambling and full of everyday words like "used to make." The deflation is the point. It reproduces, in the reader, what the speaker felt when someone met all that vastness with a question about a product.
The coconut detail deserves a second look. It is the one concrete, sensory image in a poem otherwise built from huge abstractions, and it is pleasant, warm and a little tropical. Judging by the poem, the speaker isn't saying that being attractive is shameful. The complaint is that the scent was the whole of her interest to him. Her hair is the only part of her he asked about, and "all you wanted to know" suggests he never asked anything else. The word "know" is sharp too, because a person can enjoy a smell without knowing anything about who is wearing it.
The poem also changes its focus halfway through. Until "To you, none of that mattered," the speaker talks almost entirely about herself, as if she must first convince herself of her own worth. Only then does "you" appear, and he arrives as the one who failed to look. The structure keeps her self-worth independent of his opinion, because the list of her qualities comes before his verdict and does not depend on it.
What makes the poem worth reading is how much it does in so few lines. It names a very common hurt, being admired without being seen, and gives it a shape the reader can feel. Anyone who has been praised for the wrong thing will recognise the sinking feeling in that last line, and the poem makes that feeling land by letting the speaker's grandest language run straight into something small.