Ode to the Fruitcake...a poem

‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring, except me in my blouse
I was stirring and stirring and scraping the bowl
Nary a raisin nor cherry left out of the fold
As the oven was heating, I said a small prayer
That no one would wake and find me down here
I waited with patience for the last sleepy head
to finally start yawning and head up to bed
A secret I’ve kept for about 35 years
Afraid of the ridicule, the whispers, the stares
And yet every time someone mentions the word
Each person in earshot agrees it’s absurd
“Who’d actually eat it?” they’d ask all disgusted
“Not me” I’d reply, hoping I won’t get busted
But it’s not fair, you know, living with this denial
Not sharing my love for what others claim is so vile
When the jokes start to roll about how gross this confection
Often re-gifted or thrown out, I feel its rejection
Not standing up for its odd texture and bright flavors
Results in a shame that year by year never waivers
Instead of get angry, I just bake them for gifting
And as each one rises I feel my spirits lifting
Some day I’ll “Come Out” and confess my real passion
For this Christmas delight that knows no compassion
Let them talk, let them laugh, I won’t give a hoot
Just leave me alone with my cake made of fruit