Though not part of a tree, you could say it’s a log. Trophy logs made of gold are hung on artists walls. You can speak on or off it, drop a needle atop it, Or break it, just make sure that Guinness can watch it.

What’s every color made, But mostly black and blue? Rolling its head on a page, Bleeding out, just for you.

I reach for the sky with a needle of stone, Born from a base, yet I stand all alone. Not quite a tower, but aiming up higher, A peak with a purpose, slim, sharp, and dire. Churches and castles wear me with pride - What am I called when I upwardly rise?

Sometimes I protect you, other times I fascinate. A shield as flimsy as cardboard. At a party or when you graduate, I sit with you, whether you're Abe Lincoln or Harrison Ford.

I make you look up to others, while they look down on you. You cant control me but constantly wish you could, especially when reaching top shelves or swiping right. The less of me you have the more creative your excuses get. What am I?