This Love Is Scary and Unfamiliar.

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This Love Is Scary and Unfamiliar.

Ulises Vargas

October 2, 2025.


If there’s one repellent I’ve found most effective 

It’d be the terrible “L” word and flowers 

When someone else loving yourself 

Must be insane 

To love that which you yourself do not love


Is this not what you wanted? 

Have you not chased an unconditional love

Down the dirty alleys and in a broken home 

Hoping to find this love 

That is peaceful and pure?


Was my heart too heavy 

For you to hold; 

My embrace, too comforting 

For you to trust? 


Run, run away

I can’t make you stay 

Because I won’t abuse you 

No matter how badly you want me to 


I love you, but you’re not healthy 

One day, you’ll escape the delusions 

And recognize true love 

Or maybe the next will hit you 

And their fist won’t be as scary 

As the “L” word and flowers

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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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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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