(Not) A Rock [A Poem]

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I’m told I’m supposed to be imbokodo – a rock.
A rock that you can strike,
Because when you do it won’t break, right?
I won’t crack under the force of your fist,
I won’t be shattered by the sting of your brutal words,
I won’t take offense at your sweet words and hungry look towards her,
I won’t be overwhelmed by the implications of your absence as I stare at the faces that are your spitting image, right?

So I tried.
I tried to cover up the black and blue marks your anger left behind on my face.
I tried to forget and correct the spillage of your words in my heart.
I tried to play your part and carried the home on my shoulders.
I repeatedly tried to erase the image of your body forcefully entering mine.
I really tried to undermine the purpose of my existence, to live ignoring my passion and aspirations.
I tried to be as strong as you said I should be.

I tried over and over again, but failed each time.
I broke down in tears on every occasion because
My body couldn’t take it, it was supressed by its own infirmities.
My mind couldn’t cope, it was still wrestling my insecurities.
My heart failed, it was loaded beyond capacity.
So my spirit grew faint.
Because I am not a rock.

I am a bone, a bone of your bones.
I crack under pressure,
I break when your strike me,
I am as weak as the side I was taken from.

But there is a Rock.
Only hidden under it am I strong,
Only standing on it am I unshakable,
Only through it am I unbreakable.
So stop telling me I am a rock and lead me to the Rock that is higher than I.
That rock when you strike gushes water in my dessert places.
The rock of ages, beyond time yet with me in my times, even that time of the month.
The rock in whom I find refuge when trouble raids.

‘Who is the rock except our God?’
I am no rock,
You only call me one because you failed to lead me to the rock that is higher than both you and I.

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