The speaker is a piece of fine ware, the kind of delicate china that gets set on a shelf and handled with care. But instead of begging to be protected, the voice says the opposite: just drop me. The poem's central question is blunt. What good is being preserved if you still end up broken anyway?
The tone is weary and a little defiant. The speaker knows they are fragile and admits they would shatter if they fell. Yet the last lines turn bleak, because "there's only this much of me left to be broken." That suggests they have already been damaged, perhaps many times, so there is little left to lose. Judging by the imagery, the china may stand for a person who has been handled so carefully, or hurt so often, that waiting for the next blow is worse than the blow itself.
The mood is quiet, tense, and heavy with exhaustion, with a dark edge of resignation.