Why My Altar Isn’t Pretty — It’s Built for the Blow

Let me go ahead and say this loud for the filtered witches in the back:
My altar isn’t cute. It’s dangerous.

I don’t build my altar for Instagram likes. I build it to hold the weight of my rage, my grief, my prayers, and my power. If you walked up to it expecting Pinterest vibes, you’d be disappointed—or hexed. Depends on the day.

There’s melted wax in layers, like battle scars from every ritual I’ve waged.
Scorched herbs that carried my words to Spirit like smoke signals.
Cracked bones, broken in my hands when I needed more than pretty—when I needed truth.
Charred petitions, leftover ash, an occasional rogue nail or broken chain—yeah, this is where the magic happens.

Because this altar? This is where I bind liars, call down protection like lightning, and drag my scattered energy back from every hand that ever tried to take it without asking. It's a protection altar, a justice altar, and sometimes a courtroom in the spirit realm. And baby—I’m judge, jury, and executioner when necessary.

This isn’t a vibe. This is a weapon.
It’s not about aesthetics. It’s about intention.
Don’t let the rose petals fool you—those are offerings, not decoration. And that black wax dripping like tears? That’s how you know a ritual landed.

A real altar isn’t a photoshoot. It’s a setup for witches who aren’t afraid to get their hands dirty.
It’s for those of us who’ve learned that beauty is fine—but power is sacred.
I didn’t come here to match your feed. I came here to shift reality.

So if you’re out here googling “witch aesthetic” or “spiritual altar meaning” hoping for some cute setup tips, let me lovingly redirect you:
Your altar isn’t meant to be admired. It’s meant to work.

And mine?
It’s built for the blow.