vulgar.

一

She looked at her plate of diner- if you could even call it that- with disgust written all over her tired face. She didn't think that the food that her dear mother made was in any way not pleasant, but she just couldn't help but stare blankly at the plate in front of her. It's a habit of some sort.

"Honey, why aren't you eating?"
Honey. Why did she call her that? She didn't represent honey in any way possible.
She wasn't sweet. She didn't make things sweeter, neither did she help with a cold.
"!@#$, are you even listening?"
"I'm not fu- I'm not hungry mom" she mumbled as she stood up and rushed out of the dining room to her own. oh how she forced herself not to curse. She knew if she did, her mother would think less of her as a daughter.

The woman that gave life to her always wanted a girl that would have good grades, be pretty and polite, never curse ( or at least not 24/7), and just be the perfect daughter.
What mother wouldn't wanna have that?
But !@#$ wasn't like that. She didn't have the best grades, she wasn't that pretty and anything but polite, cursed a lot, and just wasn't the perfect daughter a mother would wish for.

As she entered her bedroom she immediately noticed that it was very chilly in here. She glanced over to her window and saw, that she had left it opened. "Fucking hell, are you shitting me?" Her tone was poison to the nothingness that she talked to. Sometimes she wondered why she was that way.
She went over to the window and closed it, deciding to just look outside, noticing little things like how one of the streetlights in her neighbourhood was flickering, or how untamed their neighbours garden looked compared to theirs. Her mother always took good care of it, judging by the fact that she loved flowers. She once told her the reason for her love towards these small, colourful things. She told her how much she loved their delicacy and soft image, how each one of them has a distinct but soothing scent, how they are fragile and have to be handled with care and passion, and how they are just a beauty to look at& touch overall.

!@#$ was everything but delicate, soft, colourful, and beautiful.
She was harsh, rough, dull, and mean.
She hated herself for being the way she is, even though she couldn't do anything against that.
She hated herself for having such a colourful vocabulary.
She hated herself fo- "stop." She complained. Who did she even complain to? " I don't know, now let me rest. I'm tired"
With that, she walked over to her dresser, opened, chose and changed into her dotted pyjamas. Being done she closed it again and laid down onto her bed.
For the first moments she just laid there, starring holes into her ceiling, soon starting to think about tomorrow. While thinking she fell asleep, not knowing of what was going to happen the next day.