Two lines are all it takes here to describe a familiar kind of hurt. The speaker addresses "you" directly, suggesting that other people may not know who you are, and might not care even if they did. Then comes the question of whether that still surprises you, and the answer is a single, flat "No..."
That trailing ellipsis matters. The word doesn't sound angry or dramatic. It sounds tired, like someone who has been overlooked so many times that the feeling has turned into routine. The title, "#3 Surprise," hints that this is one entry in a larger run of short pieces, though the poem itself doesn't tell us more than that.
The mood is quiet, resigned and a little bleak. There's also some bitter honesty in it: the speaker isn't asking for sympathy, just admitting that low expectations have become a kind of protection. The unfinished "No..." leaves a small silence afterward, as if there's more the speaker could say but has stopped bothering.