Mapping my own sense of self , sexuality and identity in relation to the city. Stories of my queerness, of past and present, identified within the urban fabric.
A boy raised to be a man
by Kleanthis Kyriakou
A boy raised to be a man
now is flaunting a fur, so long that reaches his toes.
He likes to look at himself sometimes, in his fantasy mirror of illusions.
A modern narcissus...
Yet all he can see is a shadow.
A boy raised to be a man
now he feels like one, dressed in a leather ensemble.
Yet his boots have heels and he carries sunflowers.
He longs to be a cowboy...
but he doesn’t have a horse.
A boy raised to be a man
now wants to be a woman.
In a sea of bad wigs he pulls the orange one out.
He is ready for a bath among the stars.
He is She now.
As She goes deeper into the water she looses her wig.
