“I Wish I Was More of a Bitch”

I wish I was more of a bitch all my life.

I wish I didn’t care what anyone thought of me—good or bad, holy or heretic, saint or sinner. I wish I could have walked through every room like thunder, unapologetic for existing, unafraid of the stares that tried to shrink me.

I wish I could only hear the word of God and nothing else. No opinions, no projections, no noise disguised as wisdom. Just the clean, electric pulse of Truth that hums in my blood when I’m brave enough to listen.

I wish I had known better.

I wish I had trusted my gut over what men told me.

I wish I had not buried my cat by the river.

I wish I had kept his skull for my mantle, to remember what devotion looks like. To remember the wild knows loyalty better than most humans ever will.

I wish I had never trusted the criminal who pretended to be my husband.

I wish I had never trusted my own father, who failed me in all the small, ordinary ways that cut deepest. The kind of betrayals that look like nothing to the world but leave you hollowed out for decades.

I wish I could make my brain work better.

I wish I could stop the static that hums between genius and exhaustion. I wish I could be brilliant without burning out.

I’m Métis—half this, half that, belonging everywhere and nowhere. I’m in between. Too much. Not enough. Seen and unseen. A ghost in my own lineage, walking between the drumbeat of my ancestors and the siren call of the modern world.

I wish I had a pack of wolves who knew I was their kin. Who would find me in the dark and circle me, teeth bared at my enemies. Who would remind me I was never meant to beg for love or prove my worth.

I wish I could actually do all the work I want to do—

to build, to paint, to write, to heal.

I wish I could focus, channel this fire instead of drowning in it.

I wish I could stay in faith.

Always.

Even when God feels far away and the silence feels like punishment.

I wish I could feel safe in life for once.

Safe enough to rest without one eye open.

Safe enough to trust the softness I’ve fought so hard to keep.

I wish I could feel like a winner.

Like I’m truly successful.

Like I was never prey.

I wish I wasn’t raised to be naïve—

to be polite when I was in danger,

to smile when I should have screamed,

to be sweet when I was burning alive.

I wish I had been taught that kindness is not submission. That love does not mean silence. That forgiveness does not require amnesia.

And yet—here I am.

Still alive. Still sacred. Still filled with wishes.

Which means I’m still filled with power.

Because to wish is not weakness.

To wish is to remember that magic lives in me.

To wish is to defy despair.

To wish is to whisper, “I’m not done yet.”

Maybe I am the daughter of too many broken promises, but I’m also the heir to something older, something wild and holy. The blood of survivors. The spirit of the huntress. The song of every woman who refused to die quietly.

So maybe today I’m still afraid. Still tired. Still rising in my spiral. But I’m also on the edge of becoming everything I came here to be. The alchemist. The bitch. The blessed one.

Maybe I’m not more of a bitch yet—

but bitch is coming.

She’s sharpening her claws.

She’s remembering her lineage.

She’s howling under the next full moon.

And when she comes, she won’t apologize.

She’ll move through the world like a prayer and a threat.

She’ll kiss the earth, bless the ashes, and walk forward with wolves behind her.

Because she was never lost—

only gathering power.⸻

Author’s note: This is a piece of sacred reclamation by @thehonedcrone. I write stories, rituals, and truth spells from the edge of survival and the center of my fire. You can support my work and see more at [pacificspiritfineart.com]. Or follow whatever the fuck is about to happen at exit369.com …

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#MétisVoices #SpiritualWriting #SurvivorStory #RitualHealing #NeurodivergentWitch #SacredRage #DivineFeminine #PoeticEssay

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