Carolina Confidential

Tell me where it hurts.
Not the surface pain—
not the sting that fades
or the shiver that lives skin-deep—
but the place you hide from yourself.
The fault line under the breath.
The trembling beneath the obedience.

Because I don’t want the bruise this time.
I want the bruise before the bruise—
the secret ache you pretend isn’t there
until My hands make it honest.

Every body carries a wound.
Some beg to be struck.
yours begs to be seen.

So come here.
Closer.
Let Me take you apart
the way you’ve always wanted—
slow, precise,
like peeling back a truth you swore
no one would ever touch.

Devotion is easy when it’s loud.
Anyone can moan for their owner.
But the quiet ache—
the one that sits behind the ribs,
the one that tightens your breath,
the one you swallow until it tastes like need—
that’s the one I want.

I want the hurt that shaped you.
The hurt you carry like a relic.
The hurt that made you kneel
long before I ever told you to.

Let it rise.
Let it shake.
Let Me feel the tremor you hide
when the world asks you if you’re “fine.”
you’ve never been fine.
you were waiting.

For hands that don’t flinch.
For a voice that doesn’t lie.
For someone who knows the difference
between breaking you
and freeing you.

Tell Me where it hurts
and I’ll show you why it does.
Tell Me what aches
and I’ll claim it.
Tell Me your wounds
and I’ll make them holy.

Not by healing—
healing is mercy.
This is worship.

you give Me the place that never stopped bleeding,
and I’ll teach it
how to want again.

Because the truth is simple,
and you’ve always known it:

The wound isn’t your weakness.
It’s the doorway.
And I am the One
you open for.

The ache was never the offering.
you were.

~Dray Orion