A young woman speaks to a man who has been polite and respectful to her. She notices that he is different from other guys, who compliment her body or call her "hot," and she says she admires him for it. She doesn't want that kind of vulgar flattery, and the poem makes clear she means it.
But the last few lines turn sharply. Even though she values his respect, she asks, "how can someone love me?" She calls herself "a nobody" and ends on the label "the lonely girl," which also appears in the title. The speaker seems to feel that the crude attention she gets isn't real affection, yet the gentler kind feels out of reach too.
The mood is quiet, honest, and a little sad. The short, plain lines sound like someone thinking aloud, and the abrupt ending leaves her loneliness hanging, as though the doubt is stronger than the compliment she has just given.