I know when I've reached my speaking cap, because you pull faces, sometimes shush me, complain that I over-explain. I tell you about how little I speak to everyone else, in hopes that you'd cherish the words I share with you alone, but it's futile. So I silence myself in efforts to quell your disdain, and refrain from speaking again. "That's too dramatic," you say. "It's one extreme to another, learn balance," you say. My speech is policed, but you "only teach." Brevity is the soul, you say. Training me to avoid embarrassment, obtain eloquence, I should be thankful that you, who know not to express your feelings without another's pre-existence, are patient enough with my chatter to suggest that I truncate and omit better. Reduce the noise and volume on this amplifier. If I were a ****, you'd fine tune me until you heard nothing at all.