Emily Scoggins

United States of America

Published Work


What is home? 
Home is where the heart is,
Home is your family, 
Home is where you can lose yourself and find yourself again.
Home is different for everyone.
Home is broken,
Home is harmful,
Home is where you build a family and burn it to the ground.
Home is where you grow, 
Home is where fall down and pick yourself back up again.
Home is unique,
Home is ever changing.

What is home?
Home is me,
I can rely on no one but myself to stick around.
I put hope and love into people and relationships;
I turn around,
They're gone
I am the only person I can rely on, me and me alone.
My home is not broken, it is bent.
I am not broken, I am bent.

Very few people understand me,
I am the only one who fully does.
I will not open up to people because then they will call me home and...

Here to Stay

I met a lady once,
at a Starbucks in the city.
She looked quite friendly,
and was honestly very pretty.
As I looked down at her bag,
something caught my eye,
and seeing it there 
made me feel like I could fly.
It was nothing special,
a pen with a rainbow.
In the rainbow were three letters,
allowing me to know.
And when I saw the letters, 
I looked her in the eyes,
and asked a simple question,
"Do you like girls or guys?"
I knew that it was forward, 
but I just had to ask.
And when she looked at me,
she knew she needn't wear a mask.
"My girlfriend and I are here
celebrating Pride."
I stared at her, 
eyes big,
smile wide. 
"I live in Texas,
my girlfriend isn't here.
We aren't out yet,
still closeted in fear."
She looked away sadly,
releasing a single tear.
"It's terrible that that is a sentence we still have to...

With Empty Chest

You told me once to smile more
That I'm less scary that way,
But now I can't help but wonder
If that smile could make you stay.
We never had long
We knew that from the start,
But somehow you still managed
To steal all pieces of my heart. 
The sun still shines,
The rain still falls,
The ground by now has froze.
And I will watch with empty chest
Until, at last, my eyelids close.

Why I Write

I Write

I write for those who cannot
I write for the ones too afraid
The ones silenced, 
The ones that don't know how,
The ones that never will.

I write to show the world that no one is alone,
I write to say the things no one will listen to
Because maybe
Just maybe,
Some one will read it instead.

I write because when I do I am no longer just sixteen,
I write to feel the world in my hands,
To bring to life the worlds in my head.
I write because that is how to make people listen.

No longer am I a small girl in a big world, 
I write as tribute to the big voice in my brain,
I write to overpower the voices speaking in lies and riddles,
I write to speak love and compassion and acceptence

In the end, isn't that why we all write?