I wonder if she’d like me. I wonder if she’d appreciate how hard I’m trying or if she’d hate everything I am. I wonder if she’d wish she could change me. I wonder if she’d want me to go back in time and do things differently. I wonder.

I wonder if she’d hate that a lot of me is fake. I wonder if she’d hate that I wear makeup everyday. I wonder if she’d hate that I dye my hair. I wonder if she’d hate that I dress to impress everyone else.

Would she wish that I hadn’t rearranged my room? Would she wish that I stuck to colorful leggings and graphic tops instead of short skirts and oversized hoodies? Would she wish that I didn’t quit dance and gymnastics?

Would she wish I was completely different?

Or would she be glad that I am trying to be my own person? Would she be glad that I am working on me? Would she be glad that I’ve found a home for myself in something other than the sports I used to play?

I hope she would. I hope she would be glad that I’m doing the best I can. I hope she would be glad that I’m trying. I hope she would understand that I changed because I needed to. I’m not the same girl that she is because I couldn’t be that girl anymore. I had to change. I hope she understands that.

I hope she realizes that it was a struggle. I wanted to stay the girl that she is. I didn’t want to change. I didn’t want to be the girl that I am now, but I had to. I couldn’t be her anymore. I couldn’t. I fought so hard to stay the same, but I couldn’t.

I’m proud of who I am. I wish that I didn’t wear as much makeup, and I wish that I didn’t want to dye my hair. But I do, and I’m okay with that. I’m proud that I quit the sports I played. I’m proud that I wear what I want to, whether that be a short skirt or sweatpants. I’m proud that I made a place and a name for myself within a community that couldn’t be more perfect.

I just want her to be proud too. I want her to be proud of me. I want her to understand. I understand why she is the way she is. I understand why she lets people tell her what to do with no say for herself. I understand that she is timid and shy. I know why. I want her to understand me.

I’m proud of her too. I’m proud of the way that she handles herself. I’m proud of how often she shows her personality. I’m proud that she was me once. I’m proud that I used to be her.

But I wonder if she’d get it. I wonder if she’d hate me. I wonder if she’d regret every choice I made. I wonder how much she’d want to change me.

I wonder if she’d like me.