His idea of dancing involved standing still while he held my hands and watched me twirl.
It was meant for me to crack for

I was always cracked up.
My pieces spread on the racks.
For some people can’t see softness

without  wanting to hurt it.
One thing becomes clear

you have to stop caring so as not to be on the rack of crack.
Love wasn’t all that cracked up.

    From Ama, my beautiful friend with straight legs .

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