Filipinos have it Made with the Shade

My girlfriend told me that I looked as pale as a ghost
drifting through a pitch black night, that I looked sickly,
somewhat unapproachably disgusting, that maybe
I should find a good salon and tan my skin
to that perfect shade, you know, the one
that carries an essence of a high mahogany,
that is classy and might drive a silver Mercedes
or wear a loose buttoned down shirt,
gold chain to compliment underneath.

My girlfriend told me that I looked unlucky
like a black cat wandering under the sun,
that I stuck out like ash spread over pure snow,
that maybe I could make my skin lighter,
(they can do that now) and cure my darkness;
salvation in the form of that soft tone of brown,
you know, the one that makes mouth’s water
like cappuccino or a perfectly roasted marshmallow.