Complaints I’ve got a list of complaints No one wants to hear My friends and I We’ve been through it all I’m afraid we missed What it was We were supposed to have learned It wasn’t cheap We gave up our time We gave up our money We gave up parts of our brains Trying to figure out What it is we’re supposed to be doing We’ve been through it all My friends and I We did it all together We try to help each other But can’t help ourselves I live alone I lived with someone for a while It was nice But not that nice I live alone now My mother has never seen my place She wouldn’t approve of the cigarette butts empty beer bottles pornographic DVDs all frozen food nothing green everything covered with salt and fat I get winded coming up the steps My father saw my place But only once made my mother crazy jealous She’s convinced I don’t love her Says I don’t call her I don’t like the sound of her voice But I just can’t stand to hear her cry I’ve got a list of complaints No one wants to hear I’ve got fat deposits on the sides of my stomach Underneath my chin My face is puffy I load my coffee All 24 ounces   down with thick cream lots of sugar packets Dunk donuts in there My favorites are the ones with powdered sugar on the outside chocolate cream on the inside I know I could stop drinking If I had a reason   But living alone Working all day Coming home to a quiet house I have to eat in front of the TV Imagine that I have to take my dinner in front of the TV set I got no one sitting across from me Asking me about my day No one to help me cook Or do the dishes No one around to tell me Not to sneak an extra piece of pie No one around to tell me not to eat with With bottles of beer Or Wine Or sometimes whiskey But only sometimes A glass half-filled with whiskey The other half water A hint of lime A couple cubes of ice I’ve gone from Apartment to apartment My whole adult life I was eighteen when my home broke apart My mother stayed in our house My father got his own place A water front condo A batchler pad I stayed behind with my mother Until she couldn’t take me anymore She filled green trash bags up With all my possessions Put them out to the curb For the trash men to collect I loaded them into my trunk Headed over to my old man’s place Lived with him for a while Six months was all he could take Told me to find my own way He tells me now It’s time to buy a house It’s a buyer market He says I need to build equity Establish a good line of credit Become bonified Meet a nice woman Provide him with grandchildren I can’t commit Not to that Not to a thirty year mortgage Homeowner’s insurance Property taxes Wedding bands One for my hand The other for the hand of my lover The same lover For the rest of my life A three bedroom house Resting at the end of A cul-de-sac A yard for the children to play in A master bedroom For mommy and daddy A king sized bed For daddy to make love to mommy in A box of porno videos And vibrators Safely hidden Underneath Tools aimed at breaking The endless monotony Of fucking the same person Day in And day out Until I’m killed in a car accident Racing home to make it in time for dinner Everything’s become Old hat I’m longing for New beginnings That fresh feeling My first place Cost me 340 a month Almost half my income I lived with cockroaches I never saw In neighborhoods with gunshots I never heard They killed a man outside my bedroom window I slept through the whole ordeal I worked for just over the minimum wage Never worried about money Never saw the insides of fancy restaurants Never flew on an airplane Never bought a $25 bottle of wine Lived off of donuts and coffee Constantly puffing cigarettes Locked away behind the manual typewriter Had no money for a laptop Living off the clicking and the clanking of the keys Allowing the telephone to ring to the machine Ignoring messages Never worried Never felt lonely at all I used to constantly write Anything to fill-up a blank page I’d get so depressed at my lack of progress I’d pop pills filled with caffeine Sit behind the manual typewriter Working the keys so damn fast Mesmerized by the rhythm Of tiny ink filled stamps Pounding letters onto clean white pages I used to listen to Miles Davis on “Quite Nights” Till the ridges on my record wore down to nothing I used to make love With Van Morrison records Played softly in the background I’d dream of kisses Like kisses were a magical thing To be made from nothing I’d walk underneath skies Filled with constant moonlight Contemplating books to read And films to see While smoking cigarettes Constantly feeling Feminine palms Against my own Soft and small But capable of holding Everything