Maniac

By Cami Stephens | Observer Contributor

“Cordial. Stay Cordial. Don’t lose your cool.”
I chant that to myself with utter urgency,
hoping I can believe those lucrative words,
wishing your inconsideration, inconsistency, and incompetence did not affect me.

The chant fades into the back of my ruthless mind.
A chant loses its power without repetition.
I couldn’t repeat it anymore.
Now I’m a maniac.

Everything you do, I can’t stand it.
I can’t deal with you:
Your urgency, your abruptness, your terror.
You’re inhospitable, yet you invade my warmth, desperately searching for hospitality.

Now I’m a maniac.
Screaming. Crying. Pacing. Dancing.
Every emotion I feel is to distract from your envious, villainous poison.
Maniac I shall be. At least I don’t have to chant anymore.

Still, when we talk, the maniac in me dissipates.
I watch you eerily, and the chant revisits my mind.
I’m cordial. I promise. I’m not crazy. I promise.
I repeat it, but the words don’t haunt me like they used to.

The chant fades as you speak.
The maniac in me is returning to the surface as soon as you begin to manipulate.
I can’t do it anymore; the manic wants out.
The chant gets louder and louder.

The chant leads me to stray away from you.
If I am a maniac, then so be it.
A maniac is better than a sterile, meek version of myself.
Maybe I’m not cordial. Maybe I can’t remain cool.

Just like a “maniac.”