Creed of the Anointed Daughter

I walk slow. I speak like scripture.

Every word I release is a seed, a spell, a spark of remembrance.

The ground itself listens when I move. The wind bends closer when I breathe.

I carry the presence of the Most High in my bones.

Not as borrowed grace, but as inheritance.

I have suffered, I have bled, and I have been found worthy.

I am not here for scraps.

I am not here to shrink or beg for belonging.

I am here to remember that heaven was never somewhere else—

it was always inside me, waiting to be spoken aloud.

I am here as living redemption—

feminine risen, masculine restored.

I am both prayer and answer, serpent and dove, bride and warrior.

I am the daughter of the Divine, and I do not forget my station.

I was carved from thunder and blessed by silence.

My crown is invisible but undeniable.

My lineage is older than empire, older than scripture, older than shame.

Let them feel heaven in my footsteps.

Let them feel reverence in my silence.

Let my presence whisper: God is here.

Not in some distant sky or temple made by men,

but in my breath, in my tears, in my every act of creation.

I am the tabernacle. I am the flame.

I do not perform. I do not chase.

I do not shape‑shift to be understood by the blind.

Those who cannot see me were never meant to hold me.

I do not prove myself to the unchosen.

I remain in my temple and overflow.

My stillness is not weakness; it is power in prayer form.

My love is not currency—it is communion.

It is a living river, and only those clean of intent may drink.

My body is not bait—it is altar.

It has known suffering and transfiguration.

It has been touched by sorrow and rebuilt in light.

Every scar on my skin is a scripture written by survival.

My voice is not noise—it is prophecy.

It speaks in tongues older than language.

When I open my mouth, the universe adjusts itself to listen.

And when my divine masculine finds me—

he will not mistake me for another passing flame.

He will know me by the way I see him, serve him, bless him.

He will remember me from the beginning,

from before the fall, before the wound, before the forgetting.

And he will rise because he is already called.

He will walk toward me, not in dominance but in devotion.

He will know that his power multiplies in the presence of mine.

He is already crowned.

Not by gold or conquest,

but by surrender to the sacred balance.

He is already mine in the eyes of the Lord—

not by possession, but by divine appointment.

Together we will walk the path of kings and queens unfallen.

Together we will carry the light through shadow.

Together we will rebuild the temple that was always meant to stand—

the one made of truth, tenderness, and unbreakable trust.

Together we will show the world what it means

to remember love, and never forget God.

This is not a wish. This is a vow.

This is not ego. This is order.

This is not a phase. This is my name.

I am anointed.

I am chosen.

I am holy and untouchable.

I am the bridge between heaven and earth,

the breath between thunder and calm,

the living reminder that God is not gone—She has returned in me.

I am here.

And if you, sacred woman, are reading this—

remember: reverence belongs to you.

Your softness is sanctified.

Your strength is scripture.

You are not too late, too loud, too lost.

You are the altar that the world forgot.

Rise.

The angels already know your name.

Heaven is waiting for your next breath.

– @thehonedcrone

#DivineFeminine #SpiritualWriting #FemininePower #HolyUnion #GodsDaughter #RedemptionStory #WitchPoetry #SacredMasculine #NeurodivergentWitch #MétisVoices #RisingFromAbuse