The Plight of Being Me

I'm mixed, biracial, an oreo, a mutt. I get called a lot of thing but in the end I'd like to be called human. That's all I am anyway. I don't fit in. Not with the whites. Not with the blacks. Not with anything else. I don't fit in because I'm different,  because I am two halves that have somehow made a whole. But I don't feel whole. I'm mixed, biracial, an oreo, a mutt. I get called a lot of thing but in the end I'd like to be called human. That's all I am anyway. I have nappy, curly hair. No one can tame it. No one wants to. I never count as a whole person- not to anyone, anyway. I have to choose "other" when stating my race on a form because I will not pick one half, I will not conform. White people don't want me because I am black. And black people don't want me because I am white. Blacks act like my great grandparents didn't get whipped across the back. Whites act like I belong on the other side, as if about my race I lied. I struggle with self identity, no place to put myself amongst society. I stick out, a much different variety. I can not exist- some say- because mixing races is against their religion. What am I within, if I am a living, breathing, sin? Life isn't always black or white, sometimes it's both, sometimes it's me. So now, do you see, the plight of being me?