Poet ... ?

I don't click my fingers instead of clap ..
I have never invested in Afrocentric head wraps...
My voice battling itself ...
Lost somewhere between a pretentious whisper
Or an ostentatious growl
But I do write ...

I don’t need to change my name ...
Or Perch on a soapbox and proclaim ...
All that is wrong with this world ...
To assume that all that is right is Poetry
As if a metaphor from me
Will stop knife crime
Or end poverty ...
But I do write ...

And if no one but me
Should ever see
These letters ... these words ...
That escape me ...
As I type furiously ....
Fingertips bleeding
As I write ...
As I write ...
Past the applause
Past the commentary
When all that is left is me ...
I will still confirm emphatically
That a poet ...may not be me
But I will still
Write...
Emotionally
Beautifully
Intimately
Until all that is Left is me
I Will Still
Write ...