Why I Write, Part x+31: Soul-Silence

I suppose
I'm a poet.

It's a label I wear,
Like “white,” or “short,”
Or “nerdy geek-dork,”
“That weird little cracker with nappy hair”
Or “fast-driving, road-raging
“ill-tempered bear,”

But I sleep on my hair,
and it gets kinda straight,
Or I'll go to a game
and then party 'til late.
On occasion, I might
Take my foot off the gas.
Sometimes the urge to write
Won't come, or it will pass.

Sometimes, I fail to write. It hurts, although
The effort proves I'm still a poet.

Why do I write when my writing-brain hurts?
I suppose the alternative, soul-silence, is worse.