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

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.