They Called Me A "Disorder."

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They Called Me A "Disorder."

Ulises Vargas 

October 3, 2025. 


Is it not 

A clever lie 

That my sleeping pills 

Siphon the life from me, 

Promising to return 

A stable, carbon copy?


The first morning, 

I should be groggy 

And sedated 


Then, by the thousandth, 

Should I look in the mirror,

Not to recognize 

The null face 

Where I used to be?


Is this the price I pay 

For being different 

In a conformist society? 


Does the handful of pills,

Once at bedtime, 

Cost less 

Than the struggle 

Of dealing with myself?


Was I ever the problem— 

A divergent personality—

Or could it be 

That you all, and my environment, 

Were to blame the whole time?


Can any medication

Make the world okay? 

Or need I be pacified, 

To force me in-line?

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No Good For Me.

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                                                                     No Good For Me.   Ulises Vargas January 25, 2025. You’re no good for me.  I hooded my eyes, blind to the dark flood of negativity.  Your love was my burden to bear.  I never meant to hurt you, not at all.  But I couldn’t stand the abuse and stand tall.  Selfishly, you dragged me down with you.  While I tried my best to fix you.  Now, I’m deleting all the pics of us.  Memories torture me beyond dusk. All we had was lust.  A betrayal to what could’ve been.  I thought you were my life and I was yours,  But it was just the sex.  Now I’m free, and I don’t know how to be.  Or who I am or who I used to be.  You defined me, rewrote my own story.  So don’t contact me, rath...
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Frosted Cocaine.

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                                                                    Frosted Cocaine. Ulises Vargas January 2, 2024.  Cocaine, take away the pain.  Feel that icy blizzard like hard rain.  Pick me up from sadness and take me away.  I have nothing to gain but happiness,  Everything to lose and descend into madness.  But today, take the pain away.  Numb my face like a glass mask.  Use your power to cover and glaze the past.  Give me life, for every dollar I spend.  Give me life, for every wound you mend.  Save me from insanity,  And bring me to serenity.  Finding peace, piece by piece.
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One hundred selves.

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One hundred selves.  Ulises Vargas  November 29, 2025.  Liars. All of us are liars.  Don’t try to lie and say that you’re not a liar, either.  Let me ask you: does everyone in your life know the same stories as each other? Do they all know the same person, or have you shaped their perspective of you?  Does your mother know the travesties you’ve committed?  Does your lover know your daydreams and fantasies?  Do your colleagues know how you party?  No–no to all of those questions.  Yet, each one of them supposedly knows you.  Each one of them is wrong,  because you lie to each one of them.  They all think that they have you solved; they all think that they know the real you.  To one hundred people,  there are one hundred versions of yourself.  Are any of them real? Is it really the same person who makes those one hundred selves,  or is each self a whole different person?  Regardless, how, then, can o...
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