The most powerful women are the ones that are the most weak to realize how special they are. Maybe that is the recipe. A constant state of not feeling good enough that perpetuates the will to move.
Not to see how wonderful one is to always seek the next transformation. Morphing to accomplishments made. I love this broken that is necessary to create. If we are content, then all is still. Nothing changes the trees remain and no flowers blossom.
This fire of dissatisfaction is fashion. Moving and shaping without rest. Loving the unlovable and the unlovable morphing into disguise. To become the thing you choose to ignore. To become the most brilliant self of all.