Poetry for the woke

This place is a memory now it’s a feeling it’s a person living outside of ones home feel so alone , where’s my home wrong way , up ,down ,the other way I can’t seem to find that feeling of comfort , where can I find it,  is it me was I not supposed to leave because my comfort mattered to me , maybe , No place to smell the air of what your used to from mommas kitchen , No place to play and the yard and ball kicking , someone please take me home I’m tired of feeling alone without a place we’re parents tuck you in,  a place where you feel safe even without laying by a friend let me go home........