Adria Moses

When people say I don’t “look like I’ve had surgery,” I want to gently remind them:

there is a spirit inside every body,
carrying what cannot be seen.

Three lines from “Lemons in the Sun,” page 52 in Towards What Hurt.

The season to ascend. August, the 8th month, says major moves, achievements, power, *money making*, and recognition.

As July ends, I look towards a month that for so long was difficult for me. August always took shape in wounds and endings.

This year, I see the sun in August. The energy is literally demanding we aim for it. Think *positive*. Dream big. Believe relentlessly. ✨

July felt like an oven.
But not all of the heat came from the sky.

Still Here 004 is a letter about a month that asked a lot of me. The literal heat, the heat I carried inside my own body, and what it means to still be holding more than I thought I could.

Swipe through, then read the whole thing at the link in my bio → adriamoses.com/theletters

My fourth letter. Still writing. Still here.

Register through City Glow Yoga and come move with me + sounds by kaels 🧡

Towards What Hurt debuts September 8, and hundreds of people have already preordered their copy.

This collection was written across years of survival, illness, memory, love, and grief. These poems are old and new and edited (and edited again).

I painted the cover and designed the interior & exterior of the book. I’m proud of what came pouring out of me while I recovered from an incredibly complex surgery. These words have kept me for years and life finally got quiet enough for me to tend to them.

When you order before September 8, you get a copy signed by me, a small art print of the cover, + audio of me reading the titled poems.

I’m eternally grateful for the time to practice vulnerability, transmutation, art, honesty, exposure, and giving this work as a gift.

There is so much more to come. Link in bio for yours 🫶🏼

Photographed by Justine Castle

The secret is to really begin.

I use the past as proof. I’ve survived, even prevailed, my worst days.

prevail
/prəˈvāl/
verb

to endure; to remain standing after difficulty, resistance, or harm.

From Towards What Hurt on preorder now. Debuts Sept. 8th. Link in bio.

I am not afraid to get lost. I have a deep knowing that I’ll figure it out, and I’ll exhaust no end.

I follow my intuitive nature, and I do not surpass it.

I listen to my body deeply and believe its language when it communicates to me: slow down, don’t stop, stay right there, let it go for a few days. I trust I am creating from a place of truth and that sustains me.

You are here to pick up on patterns and ride waves of rhythm until you arrive.

Justine Castle

There’s finding your voice. Knowing you can speak.

Then there is exploring with how often, when to, there is playing with the volume, the depth.

And then, there is getting comfortable with what you hear. Final boss.

You’re allowed to change.

From my most recent substack. Link in bio to free sub + read more.

Here’s to moving in your purpose and keeping the character solid.

Page 71 in Towards What Hurt + more goodness 🫶🏼

Sometimes, you have to make one single promise or devotion to yourself.

I made one a long time ago. That I’d always get up, I’d always go to the mirror to be with the body I’m in and the face I’m with. Yes, even when my body was against me, I went towards it.

I’d devote time, energy, and presence to beauty. I’d spend what I did have on getting me together. I like to lay my blush a certain way and I do indeed cover the dark circles under my eyes.

In a flare, in the hospital, in recovery, through all seasons, beauty has pulled me out of the bed. Reminded me, I matter, regardless.

This minimal element keeps the house up.

Outgrowing myself and loving the goodbye.