Venus
Back in October
I found her
between tightly stacked shops,
on a cobblestone street,
the smell of
myrrh + old paper
piercing through
the thick scent
of London rain.
Venus, cast in wax-
not just soft,
observant.
A goddess
for my altar
(not for their bed).
As I light her,
I touch my hips-
unshrinkable.
With each breath
they stretch
demand space;
no apology.
My belly, soft not hard,
spills out
of denim
like rivers
that refuse
to be contained.
My breasts looking like hoses-
I watered
garden after garden
none of them bloomed
(for me).
Now withered.
Still they try
to suck the spring
of another Venus
dry.
My double chin:
a layer of love
I wore too long,
tucked beneath smiles.
It tells the story:
I bent.
Until my spine broke.
Yet I am not in ruins.
They mistake
softness
for surrender-
but Venus
does not bow.
She burns.
I rise
from melted wax,
each curve
a rebellion.
Witness me:
not what’s left-
what stays.
Unshrinkable.
Unashamed.
Divine.
I Was Never Meant to be Tamed
velvet night
my mouth tastes
of burned sage
& deliberate sin.
purple ink spills
ancestral pain,
coiled like dna
deep
within.
in the past
i bore many names –
now call me
witch
before
anything else.
barefoot,
i dance
on broken vows,
transmuting lead
into gold.
this body – a portrait:
time cracked
the frame,
sketched in stillness,
now
erased
in motion.
she who shapes,
she who tears,
she who mends –
or none of it
at all.
you
were never meant
to be tamed.
Vanessa Rose is a neurodivergent, bilingual poet based in Germany with deep U.S. American roots. Her work explores themes of self-empowerment, body politics and transformation through a witchy, feminist lens. Drawing from personal experience and the archetypal power of the feminine, she crafts vivid imagery that challenges societal expectations of beauty and identity. Her poetry blends raw emotion with striking, often provocative metaphors, creating space where vulnerability meets rebellion. When she’s not writing, Vanessa enjoys playing video games and spending time with her rescue cats.