I actually think I know what it means to be “low-key terrified.”
It’s the state of my cognitive mind being aware
of something much worse than my body is reacting to.
I should be racked with pain, fear, and anxiety, but I’m not.
My chest should be heaving.
My heart should be grieving the loss of something I haven’t even gained yet.
I should be insane with worry.
That’s the “terrified” part.
The circumstances should make me feel sick at heart.
The “low-key” part is that I am dimly aware
of the fact that these issues should wreck me with care.
But they don’t.
I don’t know if I have great faith or great apathy.
I don’t know if I trust God a whole lot,
or if I just don’t see the problem.
I feel numb.
I am deep within a heart of stone,
protected from the anxiety to which I am prone.
You see, I know what it is to be “low-key terrified,”
and I’m “low-key terrified” that I’m not more terrified.
They say if you don’t know fear, you are a fool,
so I’m afraid that I’m foolish and I’m about to be schooled
by life, and I’ll bet the lesson isn’t pleasant,
but even this reality is not real to me at present.
Because I know what it is to be “low-key terrified.”
To see an oncoming train but to feel numb inside.
I’m somehow beyond both hope and despair.
It is what it is, and wherever it is, I’ll get there.
Faith is supposed to be both substance and evidence.
The substance is that my god is good.
The evidence is that I’m still here.
You see, I know what it is to be “low-key terrified.”
To continue moving forward when I should feel paralyzed.
Really don’t know which way things will go.
I just leave all that stuff to God since He knows.
Low-key, I’m terrified, though.