SandScript 2021

PLEADS TO THE VIRGIN MARY
Veronica Martinez
I slam my tender wrists onto the cold tile, hoping for the chipped ceramic to
stab through my palms, for crimson to stream down the powder blue counter onto
the floor of the empty bathroom, pooling around my bare feet as I stare wide-eyed
into the reflection of a stranger. The purple marks under my jaw scream and echo
through my conscience and my mother’s voice rattles my eardrums. Hail Mary, full of
grace, the Lord is with thee…His chapped lips hungry against my thin neck have left
a consequence for my actions, the lust churning at the bottom of my stomach now
replaced with guilt. He doesn’t love me. He never will. My lips merely an outlet for his
desire, my body merely an object for his disposal. Blessed art thou among women,
and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus… I pray over the water rushing out of the
rusted faucet. Faith and rigidity ingrained onto my shoulders. Religion, a sharp pain
piercing my side at the thought of his hand gripping my hip and his bottom lip on my
collar bone. Holy Mary, Mother of God, Pray for us sinners. Now, and at the hour of
our death…I pray that my body will still be a temple. I pray that God will never tell
them. I pray for forgiveness. Amen.
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