ABOUT THE POEM: This poem, “No Such Girl Though - 10 December 2005,” was written by Ronie at a time when writing was not a performance, not a craft, and not intended for an audience. It was an act of containment. The words came from a period when Ronie was still a teenager, already carrying the weight of an earlier loss that began at the age of fifteen-a public rejection, sudden and humiliating, delivered within a single day. That moment did not resolve itself. It stayed and echoed forward, shaping how love, refusal, and silence were understood. By 2002, at eighteen, Ronie had already begun to feel that life had stalled. By seventeen, birthdays stopped being counted. College did not happen. The sense that the world had moved on while he remained behind hardened into a quiet conviction. Writing became one of the few places where that immobility could speak. This poem belongs to that stretch of time-after hope had thinned, before identity had stabilized. The poem was written by Ronie, about Ronie, sitting alone, writing from inside his own head rather than about an external story. The repeated line “I am still a small boy, I want to play” is not metaphorical decoration. It is literal self-description: a young mind aware of its own emotional age, aware that it wants safety and play while being trapped in adult emotions it does not yet know how to process. The language is uneven, sometimes abrasive, sometimes childish, sometimes abrupt. That is not a flaw of carelessness but evidence of state. This was not written to be beautiful; it was written to survive the moment. The repetition mirrors rumination. The sudden tonal shifts mirror a mind circling itself. The confusion is not resolved because it was not resolved in life. The physical image of the poem matters. The paper on which it was written has yellowed with time. The ink has aged. The object itself has become evidence. Just as academic degrees fade in relevance with years, these pages have faded in color while gaining historical weight. They are not current statements; they are artifacts. They prove that this state of mind existed, that it was lived through rather than imagined later. Ronie did not write this to send it. Like other poems from this period, it was crossed out after being written-marked as something that should not be acted upon, only recorded. The writing stayed. The moment passed. What remains is the document: a young person speaking honestly before skill, before restraint, before narrative control. Seen now, this poem is not a polished song. It is a time capsule. Its value lies not in perfection but in accuracy. It captures exactly how it felt to be there, on that date, in that state, alone with a mind trying to solve itself.