I've Been Sleeping With the Lights On Again

This is Birdy from the Hirono Shelter Series.

“It’ll all work out. It’s only politics! and what has that got to do with us?”

I turn the lights off at first. I lay there enveloped by darkness. At first, I think I can’t fall asleep because it is too quiet. I turn on the fan. Minutes pass. Maybe it is still too quiet. I open my laptop and put on a background show. Ten minutes later, I turn the light on to find some socks, because maybe my feet are cold. I leave the light on by accident, but I don’t want to turn it off yet. In the morning, the light is still on.

I think I might be wasting electricity, but I have scary thoughts late at night. No one wants to talk about it, but the Epstein files are keeping me up.

It might be embarrassing to admit, but I haven’t even gone through them myself.

When I spend time on social media, I come across comments and accounts that expose the most shocking parts of the files. I started fact-checking. Not because I want to read bad things, but because I needed to know. I don’t want to ignore the evil deeds of pedophilic overlords. But what am I supposed to do when everything I fact-checked is true? Now that I know what happened to these children, I can hardly fall asleep.

A couple of weeks ago, SOFIA ISELLA released a new song. It is called “Numbers 31:17-18,” and I cried the first time I heard it. For reference, these are the verses from the King James Version of the Bible: “17. Now therefore kill every male among the little ones, and kill every woman that hath known man by lying with him. 18. But all the women children, that have not known a man by lying with him, keep alive for yourselves.” Basically: God commanded Moses and his servants to keep the little virgin girls alive for their personal pleasure, but to kill everyone else.

Yes, you can argue that the verses are taken out of context. My commentary is not meant to be a deeply religious argument, but rather, a social one. Because with or without context, these verses should be disturbing. In Isella’s song, she writes about the missing context, “The context is missing, long, long forgotten/Oh the context, the context is on the milk cartons/But they still feel the battle for that silhouette of air/The people go home and suck on excuses and prayer/Context, context, there’s context to the slaughter” And of course we just needed context for missing little girls and pedophilic acts. Oh my god, why did no one think about that. There is no such thing as morality, just context.

Months ago, I reduced my social media screentime to 30 minutes during weekdays and 1 hour on the weekends. My friend has the password because I have no self-control, but this has drastically improved my quality of life. I go to the gym, I read, and I make time for my friends. One of the effects of seeing less content has been more reflection on what my algorithm shows me. And yes, it has to do with my age and location and interactions and so many other things, but I am becoming concerned with how much softcore pornography is on my algorithm. Recently, I have seen at least three Piper Rockelle posts a day.

A few months ago, I watched a documentary called Bad Influence: The Dark Side of Kidfluencing, and oh my god, my heart aches for Piper. So partially, I think I watch her TikTok posts out of morbid curiosity. Piper is cute, sure, but she is the same age as my perfect little sister who has only ever kissed one person. Saying that Piper should be more innocent is a difficult argument to make because I respect her autonomy. Further, I understand that sex work is not inherently shameful or wrong (when proper consent is involved), and I have seriously considered it. But I still feel sad about Piper.

Piper claims that when she dropped her OnlyFans on her 18th birthday, she made $2.9 million within the first 24 hours on the platform. And get your bag girl, but how many people have been waiting to see her naked since she started YouTube at eight years old? She got 2.4 million likes on her 18th birthday announcement. And to be fair, she has 6.6 million followers on Instagram, 19 million followers on TikTok, and 12 million subscribers on YouTube, so maybe the number of likes was warranted, but who is following her? I don’t, my friends don’t, even my younger siblings (the same age as her) don’t. Some of those likes were probably from age-appropriate followers, but how many weren’t?

I think part of what sucks the most about the Epstein files is that nothing is going to change. We aren’t going to wake up tomorrow and incarcerate the ultra-rich monsters that get away with raping children and killing and eating people. Socially, we have determined that we don’t really care if rich old men do it. We elect them to lead our country, we order things from Amazon anyway, and we ensure that nothing changes. I can be angry and vote for legislation that protects children, but if legislation isn’t equally applied to everyone, so what? Should I just go about my life and pretend that rich old men aren’t forcing infants to suck their dicks? Do I sleep with the lights on forever?

I don’t know. I guess I’ll go to the movies and watch bad tv and fill my brain with distractions like the rest of America.

-

I wrote this poem last April (and I have been too scared to post it):

Terms of use

by Macy Conrad

I see on Facebook groups

people talking about cheaters.

That they are bad,

that I should think of their wives,

their kids.

How did I become a homewrecker?

The other woman?

Why do I get off on the idea that

someone will choose me

over their lover?

That they’ll fuck me in the kitchen

while their wife puts the toddler to bed?

That was a real offer I got once.

I unadded him on Snapchat the next day,

but the night came again,

and I missed him.

And I wondered

if I did the wrong thing

by thinking of her instead of me.

Because I was still lonely.

Working as a server broke my heart.

Because of date nights

and married men.

Why do their eyes undress me

as I walk away?

I honestly don’t know

if what I do at night

is much different than prostitution.

The hollowness,

while open to everything.

A blank stare during eye contact.

Sometimes they shut their eyes the whole time.

Sometimes they use the wrong name.

The script doesn’t change:

You’re so fucking hot.

I need you.

You have perfect tits.

Send pics.

You are such a temptation.

Can I cum inside?

Yes, I’ll let you fuck me.

Yes, you can cum inside.

But could you also call me

Just sometime

Just to say hi

Or tell me that I’m pretty

Or that my interests are good

Or that my ideas are cool

Or that you remembered flowers

Sometimes, they try.

Inevitably, it’s not me.

Four months:

“I just don’t think I’m in a place where I could date you,

you know, until my divorce is finalized.”

Three months:

“I thought friends with benefits was going well,

can I still sleep with you?”

Two months:

“I don’t want just one more night,

that would be shallow.”

One night:

“Your performance last time

already convinced me to see you again.”

I don’t know

anymore

how many men have seen me naked.

I don’t believe in the male loneliness epidemic.

It cannot be worse

than how deeply, abysmally

lonely

I am

from servicing them

and getting tossed aside after.

-

Yours Truly,

Macy