The speaker spends most of the poem talking themselves out of their own feelings. Each of the first five stanzas follows the same pattern: "No, surely I have no problems," followed by a list of worse things that could happen, and then the flat refrain "Yes, it could be worse." The repetition feels like a habit, almost a script the speaker has learned to recite whenever they feel low. Guilt runs underneath it, especially in lines like "shame on me for complaining."
Then the poem turns. "No, no, no" breaks the pattern, and the speaker admits they do have problems and aren't perfect. They argue that other people's suffering shouldn't shrink their own worth, even if they are privileged. The mood shifts from stifled and apologetic to tentative and quietly hopeful. The ending, with its broken-off dash and its question, "Surely that-/-surely that is enough?", sounds unsure. The speaker wants permission to feel their life matters, and they're still asking for it.