The speaker names a fear and then circles back to it: atelaphobia, the fear of never being good enough. The poem opens and closes with the same line, "thats what i have," so it feels like a confession that never gets past itself. There's no escape or resolution, just the same admission repeated.
In between, the speaker lists what hurts. Flaws get pointed out, while good things go unmentioned. There are no awards, no recognition, no one paying attention. The short, flat lines pile up like evidence, and the repeated "never" and "always" make the feeling seem permanent. The contrast between being "looked down on" and "never looked up at" is especially sharp: the speaker is seen as small, not as someone to admire.
The mood is quiet, tired, and lonely. The lack of capital letters and punctuation, plus the small spelling slip in "reconised," makes it sound raw and unpolished, as if the words came out without being tidied up. The title, about flowers thrown from a windowsill, suggests a gesture of discarding, though the poem itself never explains it.