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Do you call Sex Love?
I've heard many poets and musicians refer to sex as love. I've heard many doctors and scientists call sex other words such as coitus, mating, sperm donations, copulation, intercourse, and some others. Do you call love sex? Or are you like me? I call sex sex, and love love. If you are like me and prefer to keep a term simple and comprehendable, then you may be interested in my list of vices that fall under the sexual conversation. The reason people like me do not call sex "love" is because of our experience in the six sexual vices which include: Danger, Jealousy, Disgust, Guilt, and Remorse. I will attempt to describe these vices with examples of horrible living circumstances that are quite painful to an individual so that the poets and musicians who wish to comprehend why some of us do not like calling love sex feel this way.
By Shanon Angermeyer Normanabout a year ago in Critique
The Invention of Whiteness: How Race Was Manufactured to Divide and Rule
When we talk about race, it often feels like we’re speaking about something ancient and immutable. But the truth is more unsettling: race, especially the category of “whiteness,” is a modern invention — designed not by biology, but by power.
By David Thusiabout a year ago in Critique
Shasha and the Leopard King
Note: This is for my children's picture book. That's why it's very short. It is also unedited. The Forest smelled like frosted Scones from a bakery, sweet and buttery. Shasha could see the oozing cotton candy smelling from each tree's branches, forming a rain puddle around them. As Shasha walks through the forest, she heard something.
By Angel Aguilarabout a year ago in Critique
Truth, Theft, and the Courage to Remember: Reclaiming Our Stolen Histories
History, we are told, is about facts. Dates. Kings. Wars. Inventions. But the question I keep returning to is: Whose facts? Whose kings? Whose inventions? I didn’t grow up asking that question. I accepted the timeline I was taught — the one that began in Ancient Greece, skipped to Rome, fast-forwarded to the Enlightenment, then marched triumphantly into the Industrial Revolution. I was told this was progress. That this was civilization. But something always felt off.
By David Thusiabout a year ago in Critique
“Why Did the Burqa Controversy Among Afghan Women Go Viral in 2025?”
Afghanistan 2025: A Nation's Women Behind the Veil and Bars In a haunting image that has gone viral on social media, an Afghan woman clad in a full blue burqa grips iron bars from behind a window, her face hidden behind the mesh of her veil. The caption reads simply: "2025." This single image, shared by user @loniee_07, has stirred international emotion and sparked a renewed wave of outrage over the ongoing oppression of women in Afghanistan. But this is more than a picture—it is a visual outcry, a symbol of a nation where being a woman is equated with being a prisoner in one’s own home and body.
By Farhan Rafidabout a year ago in Critique
"The Hair Flip Heard Around the World: How a Viral Gesture Stunned Trump and Disrespected Arab and Islamic Values"
The Viral Hair Flip That Stunned Trump: A Cultural Misstep with Negative Implications for Arab Countries and Islam In the digital age, where a single gesture can ignite international debates and stir emotions across continents, a viral hair flip has become the latest example of how global perceptions can be shaped in moments. What seemed like a trivial flick of hair in a high-profile setting involving former U.S. President Donald Trump quickly spiraled into a symbolic controversy—one that exposed the fragility of cultural respect, highlighted Western ignorance toward Islamic and Arab values, and ultimately left many in the Arab world and Muslim communities feeling disrespected and misrepresented.
By Farhan Rafidabout a year ago in Critique
Shush the noise.
Shush the noise. I sit here, quite happy, listening to next door powerwashing his garden. My husband upstairs steam cleaning the bathroom floor. In between, when the noise quietens, the bird singing proudly. It’s summer. The sun shines, my heart’s filled with gratitude and love. I am here and alive.
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk about a year ago in Critique
I Contacted My Spirit Guide
I Contacted My Spirit Guide The mirror was so old, as soon as this shape showed itself, the glass shattered into a million and one pieces.Show me my guide, I asked. As soon as she appeared, it was like a gun had gone off, yet there was no glass in my lounge. No, the shattered bit all fell into the mirror. I could see each piece, yet the mirror wasn’t broken? Why? How?
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk about a year ago in Critique
Other job
Just to let my Vocal friends know there will be times that I will be away from sharing insights on your works and only one or two short writings till I finish a transcription project of recipes. The reason is that I will be working at my transcription typing job. I will catch up on reading and leaving insights and hopefully I will find out shortly what I did and will be able to comment as well on your works. Still waiting for a reply to the message I sent to the higherups. Hope I find out soon what happened.
By Mark Grahamabout a year ago in Critique
"Echoes of the Forgotten"
A Journey Through Lost Memories and Hidden Truths The rain had just begun when Elira stepped into her grandmother’s attic for the first time in years. Dust swirled in the air, lit by the pale light seeping through the cracked windowpanes. She was here for closure. After her grandmother's funeral, Elira returned to the house she hadn't visited since childhood, hoping to find something—anything—that would explain the strange dreams that had haunted her for weeks. They weren’t ordinary dreams. They felt real. A golden field beneath a violet sky, a melody played on a strange instrument, a boy with eyes like a storm. Each night, fragments of a life she didn’t recognize surfaced in her mind, growing more vivid, more desperate. While rummaging through a trunk of yellowed letters and old photographs, her fingers brushed against something cold and metallic. A silver locket, its surface engraved with unfamiliar symbols. As soon as she touched it, a pulse of warmth shot through her chest. The attic blurred, her knees buckled—and suddenly, she was standing in that golden field from her dreams. She turned in disbelief. Everything looked exactly as it had in her visions. The violet sky rippled like silk, and wind whispered secrets through the tall grass. A figure stood ahead, half-shadowed. It was the boy. His storm-colored eyes widened. "You’ve returned," he said softly. "But you're... different." Elira stepped back. “Who are you?” The boy tilted his head. “You don’t remember me, do you? Not yet.” Lightning cracked across the sky. When Elira blinked, she was back in the attic, breathless. The locket dangled from her hand, warm against her palm. Shaken, she took it to the local library, desperate for answers. There, she met Callen, a quiet, reclusive archivist who recognized the symbols. “These are from the Valean language,” he said, pulling a faded book from a high shelf. “A culture wiped out during the Cataclysm War... over two hundred years ago.” “That’s impossible,” Elira murmured. “How could I dream about something from two centuries ago?” Callen frowned. “Sometimes the past doesn't die. Sometimes, it sleeps—in blood, in memory.” Together, they began to uncover the truth. Elira was a Descendant, born from a bloodline cursed to forget its origins. During the war, her ancestors sealed away their memories to protect knowledge that could destroy—or save—the world. The locket was the key. Each night, Elira wore it and returned to the dream world. And each time, the boy was waiting. His name was Kaelen. He had been her guardian, her friend—her love—in a life she had forgotten. But the dreams began to shift. Darker images bled through. A masked figure watching from the shadows. Screams in the night. A city crumbling into dust. One night, Kaelen told her the truth. “You weren’t just anyone,” he said. “You were the Keeper of Truth. You held the knowledge to stop the war. But you chose to forget—to seal it away so no one could use it.” Elira’s heart ached with confusion. “Then why now? Why am I remembering?” “Because the war is rising again,” Kaelen said, eyes heavy with sorrow. “And only you can stop it.” In the waking world, Elira and Callen searched for remnants of the lost Valean civilization. Beneath the ruins of a forgotten temple, they found it: a sealed chamber, guarded by ancient glyphs. When Elira placed the locket into a carved indentation, the door groaned open. Inside, the chamber thrummed with power. Murals on the wall showed glimpses of her past life—her and Kaelen standing together, leading others, protecting knowledge too dangerous to exist. At the center stood a crystal pedestal. Resting atop it, a book bound in silver. As Elira opened it, a flood of memories surged back. She remembered the war. The betrayals. The terrible knowledge that could destroy worlds. But she also remembered love, sacrifice, and hope. Kaelen’s voice echoed in her mind. “You don’t have to carry this alone this time.” Elira turned to Callen. “We have a choice. Use this knowledge to stop what’s coming—or seal it away forever, again.” Callen looked at her. “What will you choose?” She closed the book. “This time, I’ll remember. This time, we fight.” The echoes of the forgotten had awakened. And Elira was ready to face them.
By Kaleem Ullahabout a year ago in Critique
Don't know?
I sent an email to Justin at Creatd and in that email I asked, 'What I did to do to be not allowed to comment.' I am not sure how long I will not be able to comment on stories, articles and poems. I am leaving 'Insights' on everything I read and likes. I know I mentioned only a few times the new site I work for, but that was just to share my good news with everyone. I really like writing and reading here on Vocal. I am still waiting to hear about this. I Will let you know.
By Mark Grahamabout a year ago in Critique
Shakira
I am logged in and reading my notifications and when I went to read another story there was a notification by a SHAKIRA who seems to be just starting here signing in this current month and has 45 articles published already. I think Vocal should hire someone to review new 'applicants'. Here is an idea that just might work. The online writing site that I wrote for a long time ago had a short application to fill out and for the owners to check out before letting anyone write there. For right now I think Vocal only has writers sign in with a username and password. Please share what you think.
By Mark Grahamabout a year ago in Critique