Won't Be Pinned

You brought it out slowly, small yellow bag,

A beautiful pin, with a hefty price tag.

Said, “This took work, you don’t even know,”

While your performance hummed with the need to control.

***

I stared at the shine and I heard your past,

The pain you endured, worn behind painted glass.

But it felt like a trade, dressed up proper and prim—

A costumed affection I’d wear on my brim.

***

You said, “This is love,” and it sounds like a deal,

Where the currency’s comfort and the pain’s the appeal.

***

So I go dark, and I stay unseen,

Refuse your gift before it splits at my seams.

It’s a gift of strings, and the tension sings—

You don’t love me, you’re just grasping at things.

And the guitar you strum, it’s yours and it clings—

Your melody moves me, this gift of strings.

***

You claimed I was safety, made you feel whole,

But not safe enough to find self-control.

I spoke from the chaos I wrestle inside,

While you folded inward, ready to hide.

***

You call it abuse when I deviate from the script,

When I speak true words and there’s no mask to slip.

I call it love, this beautifully brutal art—

But to you love keeps score, and it measures my heart.

***

And I know I'm flawed, stitched tight with fear,

But you barter your warmth, and you tax every tear.

I’m not your supply, I’m not just your stage,

I'm not a body that holds all your rage.

***

So you shut the door.

I let it break,

Reject the pin, for both our sakes.

It’s a gift of strings, offered grip that stings,

A promise that silences everything.

You tuned my voice to your aching themes,

But I won't wear a love that costs me my dreams.

***

I need to be felt, to be understood,

Not pinned dead in a box marked “Bad” or “Good”.

So I put down the guitar, and I walk away—

Let silence speak, there’ll be no curtain call today.

***

Now I go dark, before we come undone,

Leaving the pin hooked where my coat once clung.

Your gift has strings, but I’ve got wings—

I’ll play my chords on cherished things.

No little mesh bags, no coppered wire—

I’ve learned the cost, my love’s not for hire.

***

If this was real, it would never bind,

Not beg me to leave myself behind.

You gave me a pin, I gave you my scars—

And I will not be broken—your stringed guitar.