Alopecia, a silent tale untold, Of strands that slip from the crown they hold. It starts with whispers, a patch, a thin line, A sign of change where once hair would shine.
Alopecia Areata, the body's own hand, Turns on itself, takes a harsh, cruel stand. Patches appear where follicles once grew, A battle unseen, but painfully true.
Androgenetic, both men and women face, Genetic threads tied in time and space. With age it creeps, the crown left bare, A thinning reminder that life's not always fair.
Telogen Effluvium, stress leaves its mark, A shedding of strands in moments dark. Hormones, illness, or sorrow's deep toll, Take from the scalp what weighs on the soul.
Traction Alopecia, a style too tight, Braids that pull, leaving hair in plight. Beauty comes costly when tension is strong, A loss unspoken, yet felt all along.
Cicatricial Alopecia, the rarest kind, Where scarring and fire of inflammation bind. Follicles destroyed, no regrowth in sight, A permanent loss, a long endless night.
Though hair may fall and patterns may shift, Each loss tells a story, a delicate rift. In treatments and hope, new paths are paved, For those with alopecia, strength is saved.
