Three wishes in this poem are really about freedom: to travel anywhere, to love anyone, to wear anything. Each one follows the same pattern. The speaker imagines that simply knowing she's allowed would change her. She'd see the world, her heart would stop bracing for a break, and she'd feel bold enough to buy the clothes that make her look stunning. But the wording quietly shows the problem. Permission is already hers, and it hasn't done anything.
That's why the last stanza lands so hard. "But more than anything else" drops the list and gets plain and short: she wishes she could accept herself as she was. The earlier wishes now read like detours around that one need. The mood is tender and a little weary, the voice of someone who understands what's holding her back but can't talk herself out of it. The sign-off, "from a simple girl," adds humility, though it may also hint at how small she feels.