the altar.

the altars around the room almost felt like home. a strong motherly protection against all things evil, even a negative private thought could cause physical damage, like a decorated plate that hung beautifully on the wall and randomly fell into pieces. peace be still. and so it was. i spent the night away drinking sangria with an orange slice in my cup, wondering if the spirits even want me to create a space for myself so that i can belong. my feet — mindful of each step and my mind felt as if it switched gears for every time a different creator spoke to me. all i know is, you could hang your coat downstairs, everything else is foreign. and, as much as i wanted to be the outstanding person in the room, i kept feeling as if i’m an ant protecting myself from getting crushed on. i’ve become more observant and trusting others isn’t as easy anymore. my home is my home… but how i would love to break free out of an environment that makes it hard for me to breathe as easy as possible. so here is my little note to self: spend more time at the altar.