Reblog if you have a scar with a story behind it.
On my thigh, from a plate of sandwiches that I dropped and broke and stabbed myself with when I tripped over the dog in high school.
On my nose from when a goddamn bookcase fell on my goddamn face when I was five.
On my left calf, from when I jumped out of a saddle to catch a wayward kitten and landed in a roll of barbed wire when I was eight.
On my forehead because children are stupid, pro example: my brother and I thinking you should stand in a lake and play catch with big rocks.
Under my eye, because I lost a staring contest with a dog.
My ankle. Because when a lady in a wheelchair screams at you to move, she means it.
On my lower lip, because eight year old me wasn’t smart enough to pay attention when my best friend said if I wanted to cross the road we should go back the way we came and use the zebra crossing
The inside of my right calf, because it’s a brilliant idea to go ride your bicycle through mud in flip flops at the age of eight. Also my left pinky, because a plate of spaghetti had it out for me.
(Source: birdsorthebeez)
