artist
Emmanuella Hristova was born in Oakland, California and grew up in the Bay Area. She is the third daughter to Bulgarian parents who immigrated to California shortly before she was born. She began drawing at the ripe age of four, and continued to study the fine arts through high school. In 2009, she received a Congressional award for her colored pencil portrait titled Boy in Red. Trained as a realist with a penchant for strong lines and bold colors, Emmanuella easily transitioned into acrylic painting during her studies at UC Berkeley. Her representational abstract portraits explore the objectification of the subject, whether it's herself or famous figures. She is currently focusing on solely abstract acrylic paintings that represent the drama of human emotions as storms and other acts of God.
Photo © Angelica Brewis
poet
First an artist; second, a poet. Emmanuella continued to explore her creativity through poetry, which she began writing at twenty-four. She spent two years as an English teacher in Richmond, California. During that time, she self-published her first poetry collection: The Day My Kisses Tasted Like Disorder. Her poems have been published in For Women Who Roar Issue 2: Power, 365 Days of Covid, and She Rose Issue 3: The Goddess. The Other Crown is her second self-published poetry book. Currently, she is working on two more poetry manuscripts and seeking literary representation for her first novel.
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The Other Crown is an illustrated collection of poems that asks the question: how much power do women have to give up in order to fall in love? Hristova’s second poetry book explores themes of love, romance and sexuality as they are intertwined with the patriarchy. Questioning how she gains her power as a woman, Hristova attempts to unwind the complicated nature of relationships, societal expectations, and the imbalance of power between the sexes. The Other Crown is a love letter to women: their love lives, their heartbreaks, and their friendships with one another. Click here to read excerpts
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The reviews are already coming in. The Other Crown is already rated 4.2 ⭐️ on Goodreads!
The Day My Kisses Tasted Like Disorder by Emmanuella Hristova
Emmanuella's debut poetry collection documents the birth and death of a relationship, and the death of her sister. Each poem is an emotional time-stamp that plunges the reader into the depths of the author’s feelings as they burgeon and wane. The book reads like a diary and chronicles the boundaries of the things that we all feel: love, heartache, and pain that gives way to hope.
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4.5 stars on Amazon
4 stars on Goodreads
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The Day My Kisses Tasted Like Disorder is rated 4 ⭐️ on Goodreads!
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poetry excerpts
Read even more on Instagram: @emmy_speaks
upon crowning her
I am not
a trophy;
I am the crown that
you wear on your head,
anointing you.
I am not
an acquisition;
I am the coronation
you adorn,
granting you royalty.
I am not
the medal that
you enclose around
your neck;
I am the scepter
you grasp,
bestowing you favor.
I am not
a prize,
I am the power you
wish to
hold in the palm of
your hand.
the other crown
My previous-self wanted to be
a princess fit with golden gloves and a
crown placed on my head to rule with
glass slippers wrapped around my feet,
hiding inside a fortress I
built for myself, waiting for
someone to find me.
This previous woman, this weaker woman
could not balance the
heavy weight of the crown and
stand on her toes
smushed inside crystal shoes so she
bled and bled and bled and out
of her stupor, she
dislodged the weapons meant to bind her
and pulled out a sword.
This new woman, this stronger woman now
wanted nothing more than to
slay the dragons before her, and
watch the fury of the world, the fury of her heart,
spill out in front of her for
everyone to watch burn.
October 9th
I hesitate when you kiss me because I
am afraid you will taste the disaster
brewing underneath my skin. Or maybe,
my kisses taste hot, like a dangerous
sun storm raging on the broiling
surface of our most familiar star. Or maybe,
they taste cool, like a bubble rising
to the surface above a deep ocean cavern that
holds fountains of dark chaos
beneath its depths. Or maybe,
they taste fluid, like running the edges of
worn book pages across your lips, inhaling
the texture of clandestine paper and ink that
spill out unknown stories. Or maybe,
you kiss me because you are sucking
the poison that penetrates out from
the cocoon of my heart,
pulsing through abysmal channels
till it reaches the contours of my fingertips.
You probably feel it like a heat on your skin,
like an electric stove
growing too searing to tolerate. Or maybe,
you kiss me because you like
the taste of disorder; to you
it tastes sweet. To me
it feels like catastrophe.
upon identifying the day
I knew I loved you
the moment I saw you
the second time I came to
visit you in The City and you
were wearing a cerulean button-down
that matched your eyes and you
had just shaved your beard and
I wanted to kiss you, but
not like a nervous first kiss or
a slobbery wet one; but rather,
the kind of peck lovers give to one another
after being together for years and
what they’re passing between their lips
is time.
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