The speaker lists moods that pull in opposite directions. One line asks to be wanted, the next to be left alone to manage on their own. They say they don't need help, then that they need a shoulder to cry on, then simply "you." Nothing settles, and that is the point: the repeated "Sometimes" makes every feeling sound temporary, yet together they show someone who can't find steady ground.
The mood is quiet, raw and a little exhausted. The lines are short and plain, with no decoration, so they read like thoughts admitted out loud. The contradictions feel honest rather than dramatic, the way a person can want independence and rescue in the same hour. Then the last line, "Sometimes I'm done with life," lands without warning or softening. After so many ordinary wants, it shows how heavy those swings have become. The title, about throwing flowers from a windowsill, hints at a gesture of frustration or giving up on small comforts, though the poem never explains it.