Constant scrutiny is the subject here. The speaker describes a woman who feels she is being studied like a specimen, her life treated as a science experiment. The people watching her want every detail, and the poem suggests nothing will ever satisfy them. Even once they know everything, they will keep searching for something more. The strange, trailing word "Anyrhimg..." (likely a typo for "anything") seems to catch that restless, never-finished hunger, though that is a guess.
The feeling is tired and trapped. Short, plain lines make her situation sound flat and repetitive, as if the attention never lets up. The ending turns to two questions: what can she do on her own, and what is left when she is always under the lens? Neither gets an answer, so the mood stays uneasy. The poem leaves the reader sharing her sense of having no privacy and no space to simply be herself.