"I am broken" she said. She thinks to herself, "I am broken because I am told I am broken. By friends, loved ones, and strangers alike. 
I don't feel broken but I must be, because everyone is saying so. My mental health must be broken. It's all in my head, and I should just get over it.

 

That's what I'm told. But I'm fed up with being told that I am broken."
The Bag Lady wasn't broken, she was perfect in every way. She was unique, with her pale blue skin and ragged dress. 
Her horns were perfectly misshaped protruding from the bag she used to cover her face. She was flawed.

And she carved her defiance across her face to let the world know.

 

She wasn't broken.