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Foot Bindings
I asked my grandmother how she knew she'd fallen in love. I am not sure I ever did love him, she said. This was before I met my husband. I was naive, a naked spring, a raw nerve of a thing. That cannot ever be me, I knew. Sadness swept in gently like a Moscow thaw. It is no simple thing, looking into a woman's vast soul and seeing its foot bindings. Now, in Italy divorced with my skin singed off, when I say I don't love him mean: I have succeeded at feeling nothing most days and it mostly works. Do you want the comfort of Nothing? Do you want Nothing, too? Be warned: you'll never be free, even when you are nothing. Here is what doesn't work: Accepting the stages of grief. Talking about it. Sitting with the feeling. Missing him—no, the person you were when you believed in death do us part. Writing poetry. That, too. When I say I don't love him I mean: I feel capsized in an endless, starved tide. What sometimes works: selective memory. You must forget ripe tomatoes and his beard and feeling perfectly sheltered in a big blue world. Forget coffee in bed, laughter watching TV, blowing out the candles on the birthday cake and the quiet all-encompassing knowledge that you are chosen. Remember only how love turned to a banal everyday survival act, a trapeze act unsure whether he will catch you, how the warmth stagnated and became sour, remember the foot bindings and remember the resentment boiling in your veins as you stick it out for the kids. Six-hour Netflix binges help, too. A man's fingers tracing your spine. Frozen pizza at 2 a.m. Random trips to the museum just to stand near things that last a while. The realization that crying won’t change anything. Seeing that life is just a dream, and refusing to participate in your own suffering. Bite your fist. Walk on eggshells around joy. When I say I don't love him, I mean he didn’t break my heart, he just stopped touching it and it forgot how to beat right.
By Ella Bogdanovaabout 17 hours ago in Poets
Field of the Fallen
Sunlight danced softly across the frost-crusted fields, making the little blades of grass sparkle like emeralds. The faraway chirrup of a songbird was the only disruption to the quiet of the morning. An icy chill, the last vestige of the dying winter, clung to the air, settling in a thick white mist at the far side of the open field. The heavy stench of decay hung in that mist, punctuation by the sharp tang of freshly spilled blood.
By A. J. Schoenfeld7 days ago in Fiction
Blessed 33
So I woke up on the morning of February 5, 2026 and guess what and you know what I realized? It’s my 33rd birthday. Do you know what that means? Yes, technically I’m getting old, but what I couldn’t have guessed was this would be one of the best days of my life.
By Joe Pattersonabout 20 hours ago in Confessions
The Angry Man in Your House
"If you grow up with an angry man in your house, there will always be an angry man in your house" This statement has caused plenty of controversy online, people say its a statement that blames victims while also undermining those who break traumatic cycles to form health relationships... but if I'm honest now that I'm in my 30s it makes more sense to me than ever, and I'd argue that its not just about fathers and uncles.
By S. A. Crawford2 days ago in Humans
Challenges
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Instructions for a Feeling
Write a poem that gives instructions for how to experience, create, or avoid a feeling.
$200 Grand Prize2 days leftRituals of Affection
Write a story about a recurring ritual tied to love, romance, or connection. Something about it is unusual, unsettling, or unexplained.
$200 Grand Prize4 days leftThe Unnecessary Line
Write a poem that includes one line that does not strictly belong and let the tension it creates remain unresolved.
$200 Grand Prize11 days left
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Resources
Discover tips, guides, updates, and spotlights from our team.
Public Announcement Challenge Winners
For the Public Announcement Challenge, writers were asked to work inside voices built for control. These were notices, warnings, and updates meant to inform rather than confess. The strongest entries committed to that form and didn't break from it. Corporate memos, formal government alerts, and internal policy language were held consistently, allowing emotion, fear, grief, or humor to surface indirectly through pressure rather than declaration. The following poems recognize the voice of authority, and let human feeling slip through despite all its rules and restraint.
By Vocal Curation Team3 days ago in Resources
📢 Raise Your Voice Thread: 02/05/2026
Our “Raise Your Voice Threads” are hosted most alternating Thursdays at 12PM ET to offer creators more avenues to uncover exceptional stories on Vocal. As we are continuously searching for fresh creators and inspiring stories, this thread provides an opportunity to exchange and discuss the stories that have moved and motivated us on Vocal.
By Raise Your Voice by Vocal4 days ago in Resources
Instructions Included Challenge Winners
For the Instructions Included challenge, we asked writers to tell a story through instructions and to trust the form to carry what could not be said outright. Across the top entries, that trust paid off in many different ways.
By Vocal Curation Team12 days ago in Resources
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