A daughter asks her mother a painful question: is what you feel for me really love? The title, an odd string of run-together words, is followed by that line in quotation marks, so the poem reads like an answer to a question already hanging in the air.
The speaker begins by saying she always knew she was loved. Doubt crept in only when her mother wanted her to become someone she wasn't and to do things she didn't enjoy. From there the poem turns into a challenge. Does her mother love her, or does she love an imagined version of the perfect daughter, one she can't find in the real person in front of her?
The mood is hurt but controlled. There's no shouting, just short, plain lines and a quiet ache. The rhyme in the final stanza ("imagination" and "find in me") gives the question a sharp, final feel, as if the daughter has thought it over many times before finally saying it.