Thoughts after having been called cruel

There is a very lonely nerve to confusion. It throbs silently, unsatisfied, defiantly. Defiant in its belief in itself - that this confusion must be valid. It must have, in its heart, something true that is worthy of pursuing. It is a very un-self conscious stubbornness... Something that itches at the edge of one's reasoning. For confusion must imply a certain validity to the discordance - between instinct and another's loud words.

This confusion makes me silent now. Earlier, while in younger blood, it would fuel me... Incite an uncontrollable passion to mouth words... To double into word the wordless cloud in my head. 

Young blood can be self destructive. It will always lose to sudden expectations of tenderness from the other side. For those things creep upon you when you least expect them. 

Somehow it feels like anger shouldn't accompany femininity. Like its a form of cruel that cannot be swallowed. One must engage in a performance of vulnerable defiance it seems. An interesting thought, but i don't have the first clue to getting around it.