saturn return writing

august 08, 2025 i am on my way to where i am going. but first, i will look around and admire where i am. july i’m growing and the more i grow the more i ache. the things i’m doing now i couldn’t even imagine myself doing three months ago. a friend of mine who’s a new parent once told me that watching her child grow meant that she was in a constant state of happiness and grief. these days, i am in a constant state of happiness and grief. there is a version of makhela who now o

the grief is billowing and i am screaming and no one can hear me. the grief is building and churning i feed it my tears nose running breaths snagged between inhales and exhales the grief is rising and they are screaming and no one is listening. everyday i wake up and my inner child is angrier than the day before. the villains she grew up reading about and watching on cyberchase, are all here. they are real, and people are more morally grey than she was lead to believe and she

i love flowing in an out of this space. oop i’m here, oop no i’m not, gotcha. anyways, i present to you a journal entry disguised as literary prose for your enjoyment. as always, free palestine. small change of plans, i’m in california. *insert small giggles, big laughter and evil laughter* i inhale, i hold it, i exhale. i sit on the balcony of the home i’m sitting for and i tilt my face up to the sun and smile. i inhale, i hold it, and with a grand exhale i say, “i’m free.”

space cowgirl june 05, 2025 it’s a benediction y’all, the last installment of “what is dead, must die again.” i loved this idea, i loved writing this collection. thank you for reading and sharing this homecoming with me. i lassoed the moon and now i live in her she does not belong to me i belong to her, lovers we belong to each other accountable, to each other. i lassoed the moon with the ease and the delicateness that of a kangaroo i did not lasso the moon the moon whispered

june 02, 2025 i walked along the mississippi river this morning. i didn’t know the mississippi came up this far north. it was frozen solid this winter. saw people set up ice fishing tents along its banks. and now she flows sweetly, humming a song of new beginnings. i’m not the only one walking. this neighborhood is buzzing and alive. i see a few joggers, a man walking with a crutch and a cane. i see a black woman in sweats and a long gray, robe-like cardigan. trying to convin

june 01, 2025 a stroll through heartache a leisurely walk through pain my hope stays renewed i crank and crank and crank arms tiring soul exasperated heart still mending hope, stay renewed if there is winter then there is spring and my hope might migrate for a season but she will always return unto me m.

may 29, 2025 she feels like an evergreen forest. the color cream and a piano solo in a minor key. she feels like teacups with matching saucers and holding your arms out, to make your shadow like an airplane. she feels like the stinging your eyes do right before your tear ducts go to work, like 8:13 on a saturday morning. she feels like red wine and the chapstick you keep in your pocket for whenever you need it. she feels like lips, and the pattern of your heartbeat after you

may 27, 2025 the third in this accidental series, this piece is apart of a larger collection that has been unfolding over the past couple of weeks. “what is dead, must die again,” feels like a debut and a homecoming. i see what i was looking for i see what has been here the whole time i see me wild woman wild and beautiful i see all my mistakes and all my perfections where i’ve loved and where i’ve been loved i see the bark on the trees standing tall branches swaying with the

may 23, 2025 this piece is apart of a larger collection that has been unfolding over the past couple of weeks. “what is dead, must die again,” feels like a debut and a homecoming. i wish they had told us about mourning and how grieving wasn’t just for the dead but for myself for who i was but can no longer be for what i wanted and who i wanted but who wasn’t right for me i mourn the me that i was and the me that got me here she did her best her best was enough and i love her

may 17, 2025 this piece is the ‘track title’ for this collection and is so very dear to me. okay i’ll say it, she’s my favorite but don’t tell the others. this collection, “what is dead, must die again,” feels like a debut and a homecoming. i’m standing on hundreds of dead bodies. the pile so tall you can see the peak of the mountain that i’ve tried to climb, been trying my whole life to climb. how many times i’ve tried o let me count the ways. how i love you, o let me count

may 16, 2025 this piece is apart of a larger collection that will be unfolding over the next couple of weeks. “what is dead, must die again,” feels like a debut and a homecoming. you can find the video talking about the full inspiration for this collection below. at refined ink subscribing is always optional and becoming a paid subscriber is more of a donation and a gesture of support to the writer. makhela inez, is abundantly grateful for however, you choose to support. good

may 12, 2025 this piece is apart of a larger collection that will be unfolding over the next couple of weeks. “what is dead, must die again,” feels like a debut and a homecoming i see bare ankles and knees elbows and shoulders i see a girl chasing after her sister on a pink bike i see the drive thru line at dairy queen wrapped around the block i see a park a volleyball net and twenty sum people sum hitting a ball sum talking sum playing tag i see a school of cyclists moving i

may 09, 2025 this piece is apart of a larger collection that will be unfolding over the next couple of weeks. “what is dead, must die again,” feels like a debut. i’ve been writing my whole life and almost a year on substack but this, is more. this means something, something i can’t quite place but it definitely feels like a new beginning for me as a writer. the pieces in this collection are a reflection of some things i’ve been discovering within myself and a eulogy to every

april 06, 2025 refined ink is on a small hiatus, it’s my birthday month, (!!!) and resting is key to creating. i will be back in may and whatever i create next will be either exceptionally good or exceptionally bad and i’ll be lucky enough to look at whatever it is proudly, because i found the courage to try. may you find ease, and may the blossom of spring be good to you… until next time, m.

march 28, 2025 i keep seeing posts across my timeline and feed about how important it is to avoid? ignore? romantic relationships and focus on passions, hobbies and careers. whatever suits your fancy outside of romantic love, some even suggest bypassing platonic love. every post i see makes me want to scream. scream with thirty years of rage. scream in being an only child, scream in being an only child to two black parents who didn’t show up emotionally for me. scream in find

march 18, 2025 this is the final installment of the poetry collection “bloomin’”, i hope you’ve enjoyed reading it as much as i’ve enjoyed writing it. my life continues to tug and urge me to be brave and i’m so glad that i’ve chosen to show up for myself in this way. until next time, m.

march 10, 2025 am absolutely giddy that i created this collection, enjoy. -m.

march 03, 2025 i was inspired not just by the changing of seasons but by myself, how far i’ve come, how far i still have to go but most importantly by my commitment to respect the ebb and flow of my journey. it has been years since i’ve shared a poetry collection online and i’m both excited and scared. i love this work, i love what this beginning means for me and i’m elated to share it with you all. there will be more poetry collections in the coming weeks but for now, please

february 27, 2025 i’m still apartment hunting and i’m tired. this journey i’m on, has me tired in all categories, mentally? tired. emotionally? tired. physically? be so entirely for real, tired. spiritually? mmhmm yupyupyup, tired. but when you’re this tired you know the story, is just about to get good. i got the stomach flu last week. mind you, i don’t throw up. the last time i threw up was middle school, while i was menstruating and i remember having a very short conversat

february 19, 2025 i’m late i’m sorry they convinced me i was small that my work always needed more editing that i was too vulnerable too exposed too raw the piece was too long too short it didn’t rhyme enough it rhymed too much they convinced me i could not live and write i could not live and create they convinced me this was a childlike wanting it was childlike and therefore so was i but i walked somedays i crawled others i walked and crawled and rolled my way through each t