The Profound Poetry of a Seven Year Old

So my old desk has been sitting in our basement, it's white paint is chipping and most of the drawers fall apart if you give them only a slight pull.  A chore given to me this winter break was to clean it out and throw away or keep all the crap inside.  This was the desk that sat in the corner of my room all throughout elementary school and my early middle school years, so it's contents are obviously very valuable and important.  Most of it was random stuff, old birthday cards, erasers shaped like animals, lots of sticky notes, a few sparkly gel markers, a couple articles of American Girl doll clothing.  You know, the usual. All of this was fun to find, to remember being that crazy little girl again, but the most priceless items were in the bottom left drawer.  In this drawer were stacks of my old "diaries" (tiny journals that I would document my days in for about a week and then forget for a few months, and then start new one), school journals, and crumpled quizzes and tests(I found one that reads: "Helen is very imaginative in her colorful descriptions, but still doesn't seem to have applied herself to the material" *sigh* so new me and old me aren't that different...).  Anyway, back to the journals/ diaries. In elementary school I thought myself a pretty smart little writer and I wrote some pretty ridiculous poetry that I thought at the time were insightful masterpieces. Here are a few:

Ocean waves
crashing
swirling
oh no
I'm drowning
It's very sandy down here

Obviously I was very knowledgeable about the ways of the ocean and I knew that when you want to get a point across, using less words is definitely more (please note the sarcasm).

Here is where I gave some great advice:

If you ever see a lion in your neighborhood
Take your pets and find a giraffe to stand under
Lions are afraid of them.

I had just finished the Magic Treehouse book where they go to Africa, and I probably picked up this fun fact there.  But I would just like to ask my 2nd grade self when there would ever be a lion in the neighborhood, why I grab my pets (we didn't even have any at the time-- I probably meant my stuffed animals), and why there would be a giraffe just walking around? Will it be totally okay with me standing under it to protect me from this lion that showed up out of the blue?

Here is where I told people a little bit about me:

My brain is slimy and gray,
my organs are red and twisted together,
My heart beats many times a minute
So many times I can't even count them
It pumps my red and warm blood
through blue and purple veins covered by my skin.

This is probably why I had so many friends...
Hope this made you laugh or have some sort of emotional reaction... I certainly hope my writing has improved  from these splendid works of craziness. I hope.