If I could tell six-year-old me
All the mistakes she would make,
She would be horrified, terrified,
Wouldn't want to grow up.

She would be told not to use a rolling backpack in public,
And not to buy makeup in the dollar store,
And that stick-on bras are only sticky for so long.

She would know not to straighten her hair on a humid day,
And that fake friends are not worth the frustration,
And that chocolate really does fix everything.

I would describe in great detail
What would happen when she decides
To wear black underwear under white jeans.

I would tell her how long to linger before texting back,
And how many beats to wait before apologizing,
And why she should learn to read every type of map.

She would learn why she should keep
Duct tape in her car, quarters in her bag,
Ice cream in the freezer, and a smile in her pocket.

I would teach her how to sew a button,
Read a clock, change a tire, and win a fight.
And not to let anyone steal her enthusiasm.

I would explain the importance of saying yes,
And the difficulty behind properly saying no,
And when it's okay to not answer at all.

She would know that good things come after bad ones,
And that true friends are at the end of a curved hallway,
And there is always a balance, but finding it is half the struggle.

I'd tell her that she doesn't need anyone to make her happy,
But wanting someone doesn't make her weak,
And finding someone is extremely special.

I didn't have anyone to teach me these things.
I taught myself as I went, making mistakes and messing up.
But if I could go back, maybe I would let six-year-old me
Figure it out on her own.