Jake Newland's speaker is struggling with their mental health and is quietly amazed that other people aren't. The poem starts with a simple thought: somewhere out there, people are happy all the way through, "not just in pieces." They can do what they want without first lying in bed for an hour or two, waiting for "vials of neurochemicals" to charge their brain, a phrase that suggests the speaker may rely on medication, though the poem never says so outright.
The speaker also imagines people who love themselves without having to argue the case, even to their own "tortured scowl" in the mirror. The repeated "I forget" makes the poem feel like a confession. Their own struggle is so constant that other people's ease slips out of view.
The mood is tired, honest, and a little wistful. There's no big outburst, just a flat, plain voice. The last line is the sharpest: motivation, desire, and self-worth, "or at least enough of these to last the day." Even the hope here is small.