They asked her to strip bare, to expose herself to ongoing art connoisseurs,

to make herself vulnerable.

But she would not allow herself to become a piece of society without her consent.

She did not want to mould her established contours to the greedy hands of the people;

conforming was not a word within her vernacular.

She was stabbed by sneers and ridicule, yet they did not graze her skin

nor did their words splice the very air she breathed.

They wanted to replace her, or so the curator says,

but if they could not do so, they wanted to change her.

Therefore, they did; however, she was aggravated by their actions

for they deviated from her natural beauty,

her true essence.

She was infuriated and removed herself from the museum,

from what was familiar to her.

She would not tolerate becoming a marionette to their whims.

She would not comply to the wishes of the avaricious.

She would not.

She believed that she was created for a purpose,

some sort of awe-inspiring reason,

because God did not create such a unique creature for degrading reasons.

She meandered around the world, attempting to fill the void,

an irreplaceable chasm of an emotion that was displaced previously.

Wandering aimlessly, an enigma of some sorts,

Venus traveled to the ends of the earth,

discovering a treasure of immeasurable value,

a masterpiece of its own.

The people who have derided her, chiseled her to who she is.

They reconstructed her to become who she is.

They are the reason she is who she is.

She did not change at all, but learned,

sprouted from the ground and blossomed.

She returned to the museum with this newfound wisdom,

the powerful knowledge and strength

for her realization was nothing could penetrate her,

nor change the spirit within her.