I am cut when celebrating ventures. Worn by girls, twirled by gymnasts. My first three, taken from man, formed to be a woman. May last three, the human structure, remove the E.

The first two, a medical practitioner; the last three, a patient’s condition. Together, a training or rehearsal, a tool or machine.

Remove my first for a building's protrusion, remove my second too, and I'm not much different Remove my first and add an R for what keeps tallies Unchanged, I'm an oath

Beautiful curls, an aerial maneuver, a handy tool at the bar. A roller-coaster feature, a twisting path, a punch in a impromptu spar.

We come in pairs, though not born, one for each, but we’re adorned. Hanging lightly, side by side, a little sparkle, dangling with pride.