Nay, I shall not be pacified!

Not even a month old, and already the oppression has begun. I need to find my voice, my lungs need exercise. How do you respond to my needs? With some sort of false nipple that produces nothing but my own spit. Do you think I'm an idiot? That I don't know the taste of my own drool? Admittedly, it tastes a lot like milk, but it's watered down, like, a lot. 

Here you come again with your implement of silence. The darkness compels me to fill it with prolix verbiage, how dare you stuff that rubber nonsense into my mouth, stifling my soliloquy? Shushing me like some peanut gallery member. I have important things to say! If you'd listen, instead of staring vacantly at me, maybe you'd find I can teach you to walk with purpose, to act with vigor and ambition. Instead you trip on my swing, and befoul the air with your swearing. Is it so hard to turn on the light?

Good G-d, man, turn off the damned light! I am blinded by your insensitivity! Ow! OOOWWWW!

Only recently I have been able to discern your eyes, the details of your hideous expressions. And somehow you are dumbfounded when I scream at the sight of your bared fangs! I spend my entire life ravenous or exhausted, you don't think I recognize desperate hunger in another face? Idiot.

Again I have to look at your befuddled features. I have lived for an eternity, have I not earned the right to sing out simply for the joy of performing? Stop shaking me, I am not flatulent. Stop shoving that into my mouth, I am not hungry. 

No! Get that damned plastic away - mmmmphhh! MMMPPHHHHH! Bleeehhhhh. There. Now you're covered in vomit. Happy now? Try to pacify that.