At Sea

I've waited for an inspirational shaft of light

 to break through my dark clouds of creative doubt. 

My poem's first rejection, family's disinterest and self-talk

toss me into a rowboat on a sea of negativity.

I could search for a lighthouse of saving metaphors.

Instead, I wrap myself in a blanket of pity, and

 imagine throwing my poems overboard.

They swirl down. My sweat-ink dissolves

 as the pages smudge

and flutter in their final throes.

And I forgo creating them forever!

Or

 maybe I should just keep writing.