The Woman in the by Marge Piercy

The woman in the
ordinary pudgy [under]graduate girl
is crouching with eyes and muslces clenched.
Round and smooth axs a pebble
you efface yourself
under ripples of conversation and debate.
The woman in the block of ivory soap
has massive thighs that neigh
and great breasts and strong arms that blare and trumpet.
The woman of the golden fleece
laughs from the belly uproariously
inside the girl who imitates
a Christmas card virgin with glued hands.
It is time to bust out of girlscout camp.
It is time to stop running
for most popular sweetheart of Campbell Soup.
You are still searching for yourself in others' eyes
and creeping so you wont be punished.
In you bottled up is a woman peppery as curry,
a yam of a woman of butter and brass,
compounded of acid and sweet like a pineapple,
like a hand gernade set to explode,
like a goldenrod ready to bloom.
-Marge Piercy