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letra de emdr / dean - catie trainor

[verse 1]
turns out, our bodies are computers
and in emdr, trauma was explained to me as an event that overwhelms our senses
so much so that our brains don’t know how to store it
cannot file it away so it hovers in our energy stagnant
a lost document
so it went, southern california
five years old in gymnastics
my instructor dean asked me to stay after class
your head, my lap, other way, take a nap
no one will love you if you cry like that
my skin scratched bright red but he thought i’d comply
but even at five i had the same hurricane mind, electricity mouth, veins made of lightning
a girl turned burning house
he doused my young body in its first taste of trauma
crumpled my childhood and set it on fire
a popsicle will make it better
was it banana, or cherry?
i can’t f-cking remember, so clumsy
a slide, fell off
small incident today, no need to worry
they looked, but didn’t see me
[?]
i think the light is leaving
while the other kids sad rosy and cheeked laughing
i sat in a corner spelling out s-xual words in graham cracker lettering
my soul screaming out sonnets with paper and pen
i think the darkness cracked something in me open
how could they not have noticed those adults were in charge of children?
the most vulnerable of our society so i built my vocabulary bigger than the list of names who failed me
my brain an overheated battery trying to sort out what the flashbacks mean
system overload, my mind shut off in an effort to protect me
bits and pieces of the scene kept me up at night with all the flashing four ceiling tiles
[?]
trauma’s funny like that, the details it lets you remember in the event, it forces you to forget
i started screaming into pillows when i was alone and i didn’t know why
overflowing my plate five times over at dinner trying to fill up this crater inside
i prayed the rosary, twice
was still drenched in his sin so even when the church opens its doors, i refuse to walk in
and i still don’t know what makes a soul worth saving
and after being cracked so many times it’s no wonder we split open
and when i write poems like these i don’t know the right spot to put line breaks in
because everything at once feels like it’s breaking
now i don’t sing acapella, or cry in front of people
when community knocks on my door i can’t bring myself to answer it
ever since he poured his perversion in a cup and forced me to sip
i don’t know how to navigate relationships without manipulation
i start to worry about the burns soon as sunlight hits my skin
i remember being in the shower
meticulously shaving every ounce of human off of me
one day refusing to be touched, the next, hypers-xuality
on a scale of one to ten, how disturbing is the memory?
well, i would say that it’s a ten
for twenty-seven years i’ve felt his hands on every inch of me
now i wake in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat
my lovers have told me i fly up in bed in a panic
in the morning my jaw aches, i have to unclench my fist
now i’m torn between contemplating the weight of accusation and remembering that scar on your chin
and how many more years have you taught at that gym?
how many more girls have you done this to, dean?
is it five? is it ten?
after my first emdr session, some of the details still lacked
but no one ever warned me the rage would be the first thing to come back
i swear to god i could drown a hole ocean with it
but how could i not with those screaming images arriving in flashes
my hips not yet formed, no baby t–th fallen out yet
i guess the way i balanced on a beam stirred up your sick sense of pleasure
the younger the girl, the higher the chance she won’t remember
but this is what happens when you f-ck with a writer
my brain is precise, i memorize six-minute poems by the hour
i’ve come back for you now, pure h-ll-fire and literature
and did you think you actually stood a chance against my power?
as if the ground did not rattle upon my arrival
as if the oceans did not storm in antic-p-tion of the hurricane i will rain down upon you as i rise up and crash down like the waves
you left me outside in the rain, like a tattered sheet hung up to dry
but just like maya angelou, still i rise, and my poems are coming for you
i flew back to california, healing in hand, went straight to that gym and walked my ass in
and i swear on everything holy, you will never lay your hands on a child again
[verse 2]
well, dean
now that this poem is quickly approaching part two
i kindly request that you look me in the f-cking eyes when i’m speaking to you
twenty minutes, twenty years ago
tell me, what’s the value?
and since no one ever told you, when a person says no, that in itself is a complete answer
zero explanation is required to follow
but i guess that’s what happens when you feed blood to a monster
you would think it would change him but it just make shim grow stronger
so if being beautiful means beaten and bruised, i don’t want it
i will cut all my hair off, i will scrub off this makeup
we are conditioned in society based on faulty mathematics
the church of her body set on fire by five different arsonists
and the only thing that we question is how flammable her fabric is
the clothes are not the problem
did you know that only twenty percent of s-xual assaults go reported a year?
has me thinking that the shame lies not in the women’s silence
but in the male privilege that silenced her
when flames devour your skin, there’s no question if the burning is real
so i vow to pull poems out of ashes, until there is nothing left for me to heal
and i’ve made it a habit of lifting weights at the gym
vowing that if a man ever tried to hurt me in that way again, he would walk away bleeding
so please, someone just tell me what [?] do to heal and i’ll do it
i will plant gardens in my throat, water them with the art i wrote when they’re dry
abracadabra, what potion do i swallow to make my insides a calm sky?
how must my center see sunlight if my ribcage is windowless
and i’ve been thinking a lot lately about the human heart
and it’s capacity for forgiveness
and i know in the future i will arrive at that place
but let’s be honest, that day hasn’t come yet
and i’ve always longed to speak with rubik’s cube lips
but i’m all ernest hemmingway
sprawling my blatancy on the table saying, “here, all i have is this”
and i don’t know why the tears come to me some days
maybe they are a part of me now
but if the rumors are true, if there’s something in the water, i wouldn’t believe that rivers can drown
purity is found inside of a heart
it does not live in a body
and it has taken my years to understand that it is not something he ever could have stolen from me
so i vow to be gentle with myself if my mind starts rewiring
i’m ready to change the channel away from this endless loop of a memory
turns out, i’m [?] honey
i did not grow up slow
maybe innocence isn’t real
maybe it never was but i have a spine made of iron and one h-ll of a soul
and while i can’t say what peace feels like, i won’t rest ‘til i know
so maybe that’s why i find solace in poems
these college ruled pages are the closest i’ve ever had to a home
could a person still love me when these lines run like rivers and all that’s left is my soul?
maybe that’s why i put off therapy all those years
could i still be interesting even when i am whole?
turns out, our bodies are computers
and in emdr, it was explained to me that in order for our brains to process the trauma
our minds need to update our systems, toss out our old patterns, switch out our camera lens
so i begun to view this pain as an honor
i rewrote my role in this story from victim to warrior
and maybe god, whatever he, she, or it is, gives these experiences to the ones that are not only strong enough to handle it, but have the ability to do something about it for all of us
and isn’t that love?
isn’t that love?
this morning i stood in the grocery store aisle, wondering if the bright sky blend of coffee might finally be the right fit for me
before a man passed, he asked if anyone had reminded me i was beautiful that day
“well, quite frankly, sir, i’ve been told that my entire life, but i hadn’t felt it ‘til yesterday”
little by little i feel myself coming back
each therapy session chips away at my writer’s block
and in the midst of relearning what i am and am not
i found stillness in storms, despite all that i’ve lost
and it’s safe to say i’ve found my life’s work
building stained glass windows from the shards of my heart
the deeper the pain, the better the poem
so trust me dean, there’s a hundred more where this came from
turns out, our bodies are computers
just waiting for our brains to update our systems
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[interlude]
amazing grace, how sweet the sound
that saved a wretch like me
i once was lost, but now i’m found

[outro]
it’s twenty years later, and i am safe now

- catie trainor

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