I ate a cheese string this morning
I looked in the fridge, empty again
The thought of pouring milk onto cereal was too much of an effort
I wanted something already there
I peeled it out of its ugly packaging, an illustrated version of it plastered with a grin
I bit into it and chewed, it tasted like its packaging, plastic and grim I ate it with no grin
Yet I finished it and mourned longing for a taste more real, far less artificial
But there was nothing, unless I made something, but eating that cheese string had taken a bit of life out of me
I ate a cheese string the next morning
I looked in the fridge, empty again
The thought of pouring milk onto cereal was too much of an effort
I wanted something already there
It’s forced smile beamed up at me, welcoming me a familiarity
I bit into it, chewed, still despised the taste of plastic on my tongue
But I still didn’t have the energy to make something yum
The vicious cycle began, every morning, a cheese string in my hand
I had grown used to the fakeness of the taste and how processed and hard these strings of cheese are
I couldn’t bring myself to make anything decent that I knew I secretly craved and I did pray that I could bring myself to say no to a cheese string one day
A cheese string to me is like an edible depression
Tasteless, gross, plastic and fake something you know you need to escape
But you get used to the ugly, it becomes a daily routine, you want to break out of it
But are not quite sure how you see, you don’t quite have the energy even just to create something as simple but tasty as strawberries and cream.