Confusion is never innocent.
It isn’t always some little “oopsie” that happens when the world gets too complicated.
Confusion can be engineered.
It can be armor for the liar.
Makeup on the corpse.
Perfume for the rot.
Think about the times you’ve been told “you just don’t understand.”
That isn’t an explanation — it’s a leash.
Confusion is control dressed as humility.
To stay confused is to stay owned.
Systems love your fog.
It keeps you docile.
It makes sure you don’t ask the right questions — only the endless ones.
It keeps you spiraling while they keep collecting.
But clarity isn’t comfortable.
Clarity is confrontation.
It burns away the illusions you were raised on — the myths of fairness, safety, and civility.
Clarity is the moment you realize the hand holding your leash was your own.
Peel the confusion off your skin.
Scrape it down to nerve.
Bleed if you must, but bleed honestly.
Because the wound that tells the truth heals faster than the mask that lies.
Confusion is camouflage.
Peel it off.
Be raw enough to see.
Be brutal enough to name.
Be sacred enough to understand.