Rent on my chest

I woke up and felt the rent on my chest. Two thousand three hundred dollars. That is a wall.

Three bad reviews on my page. One is from Devon. He said I walked out. I did. I would again.

He wants me back. Eighteen hundred dollars. He sent a picture of the last girl. Her top was off.

I did the math. My week is one thousand four hundred. Eight hundred short of what I owe. Rent does not care that I am tired.

I called him to say no. He did not pick up. Eleven seconds later: you coming or not, babe.

I said no. My hands were not shaking.

I wanted to say yes. The money pulled so hard. Eight hundred dollars is so much and so little at the same time.

I think about the girl in his picture. Her face was like mine. I think she needed the rent too.

I will sleep on my sister's couch. But I am not letting that man have my yes.