Eyelids, edit 2

[billy]

i see lots of You or Me or I poetry and 99.9% of the time it doesn't work it's either cliche or trite or simply boring

this does work, it is original and it doesn't read as cliche.
some really good images, lot's of good images.

i'm not sure how to take the title i decided on thinking eyelids as a metaphor for memories and what lies behind them when they're closed. (this works well for me irrespective of the what association was implied. i also too another life as earlier in the same life; the younger person.
i picked out a few really good lines but the poem if ripe with them as the reader i found it excellent, as someone who gives feedback i found it almost nitless

thanks for the read.

Eyelids

Eyelids

You could run into the field of corn. this line works well because it's sort of understated.
You would hear the crisp snap of the leaves shattering upon your advance. this is where the poems starts to get some teeth, (a great image)
You would smell dust.
You would get tiny, itchy cuts.
It would feel still and uncomfortable, and
you would be self-conscious because even though running into a corn field seems natural, and maybe even wholesome, it isn't done, and the rattling sound betrays you,
and what if there are corn snakes?
You could stop mid-stride and echo-locate the road fifty feet away.
You could stop mid-stride, and huff an pant, wondering at yourself for this queer election. should an be [and]?
And you could whistle for an hour, there, just to see if something interesting could occur.

You could pretend to be mad in a public place.
You could stare at a red object intensely, worrying about it.
You could masturbate in a gas station bathroom. for me this is pure insight.
You could wash off with pink soap.
You could ask permission first and, after hearing no, cause distress by going into the bathroom for normal reasons.

You could cry out in pain. You could do it whenever you decide it would help.

You won't.

You'll continue to not be on the roof of anything--your car, your house, a crayon rendering of your house.

You could ask irrelevant questions to the pretty girl until she ceases to be joyful. You could hate yourself, then.
You could carry yourself through Minyards as if in no past life were you ever once a slave.

You won't.

You'll continue not to have past lives, or important secrets, or the ability to wink charmingly.
You'll have this life, and shame,
and you'll try not to blink when they come for you.