The poem opens with the kind of lines anyone has heard: "What's that?" "I couldn't hear you." "Speak up." They sound like impatient, everyday requests, but they pile up, and the speaker's reply cuts through them. "Don't you realize i am?" The speaker is already speaking up, as hard as they can.
What makes the poem sting is the explanation that follows. This quiet voice isn't a choice or a lack of effort. Fear has "adjusted my volume," as if it reached for a control and turned it down. The title, "Remote Controlled," fits that image: someone else, or something else, holds the remote. The lowercase letters and short lines also seem to mirror a small, restrained voice.
The mood is frustrated, hurt, and quietly sad. The speaker sounds tired of not being heard, and the people demanding more volume don't seem to notice how much courage even this much takes.