Authentic Dislike is more palatable than pretend love and admiration

Fake connection offends me.
I don’t like the low vibration of being offended. I will dig into that, I think.

I operated much of my life by following a set of rules of how a “good” person behaved, and self-judging on whether I met this nebulous criteria. I’ve tried to strip myself of “should” behaviour and trust my own natural instincts; my own version of What Would Karen Do?

Yesterday, I received a text that suggested a disingenuous intimacy. This is strange for me, since I know that I, personally, resonate instantly with some people and establish intimacy within minutes. Why was I so offended by this particular woman’s text? It reminds me of another relationship that I have—one that is fine if we keep to our authentic relationship, but falls apart when the other woman simulates what she wants our relationship to be.

Authentic dislike is more palatable than pretend love and admiration.

Though I wonder if I am a hypocrite in this. Perhaps it is time to clear the last vestiges of the world-made Karen. I’ve written of my Pollyanna nature. Perhaps, the authentic Pollyanna in me is clearing out the people-pleasing Pollyanna.

Dash away the cobwebs
Clear away debris
Unveil Authentic Karen
Show her face to me

She can only be offended
By mismatched tongue and heart
When that propensity lives within her
True and false must break apart

Burn away the one who thinks
She isn’t enough as she is
Gust away the one
Who still believes in sin

The only flaw in her is the one she can’t embrace
She must look into the mirror and accept each and every face
Sink into me, transform me, help me to remember
I Am the baby born on the 21st day of December
My innocence is my perfection
My soul untarnished and sin free
I release the habits of the world
I come back to the One I was always meant to be

Sing to me Apollo
I sink into your tune
I lay my body on top of yours
And form in my new cocoon

I mourn for those trapped in the smoke
I came down for the ones tricked by the mirrors
I invoke the Blood of the Lamb
I awake the powerful, archaic Seers

I look the slavers in the eye
I do not fear you
Nor do I hate you
You too are not free
I came not only for the chattle
But for the ones who trapped Essence
And lived off energy
You have had your place in this story
And now is your exit, your fall
But your God has still not forsaken you
You are embraced in the perfection of the All