When sex drives, where does it go?

I wrote the following poem on September 10, 2018, and locate it as a turning point in my understanding of who I am:

philosophy of body:
sex-gender-sexuality:
psychoanalysis:
projection of trauma and intellectualization as career choice:
despair turned research project:
where is my body:
what does sex do to my mind:
what the fuck is fuck:
fucking holey person:
I’ll tell you the hole story:
disturb me more than I disturb myself:
the animals died in my dreams:
give me something to avoid me with:
requesting a lobotomy:
when sex drives where does it go:
crashed while sex was driving:
thrown from safety:
give me back my womb:
sexuality fucked it up:
learn to love and fuck:
love the fuck:
love:
fuck.

This is the first poem of mine that I quoted in therapy: “When sex drives, where does it go?” My therapist does not have an answer, and the question continues to haunt me because it articulates the seed out of which gender dysphoria emerges in my troubled psyche. I am writing to reflect on my experiences of dysphoria as a non-binary trans person, and want to revisit the experiences of gender-sexual trauma that undergird the issues I sort through in therapy.

Sculpture by Emil Alzamora

I am a child at home. “Dad, I think I might be gay,” says my sister with childlike innocence. My dad quickly erupts into fury: “I better never hear one of my kids say…