Insecurity personified

i)
The day I decided I didn't like you
as much as I thought I did,
I got my body back.

I kept trying to sell it off to you
because you were consonants,
and I was only vowels,
primitive.

I kept expecting you to claim a word,
with neck and arms and noses and ears
and I hated myself.

I feel fuller now.
My neck feels stronger,
holding my head, high.

My diaphragm pulls taut.
I can breathe easily now.

ii)
The day I decided I didn't like you,
your scent had become overpowering.

Why don't you wash away last night's pains?
Why do you start the day tearing others apart?
Why do you want me to dress you up in paper-thin
compliments when you don't
love your own silken skin?

I've ran out of paper now;
I don't want to tear anymore.
I would explain myself but I don't want
to get into the shell of your mind anymore.

You still try to claim a word,
but these days, all you get is a single
consonant and one vowel.
I don't care very much if I reject you now.
I don't care if the last thing you want to hear is a No.