Poem by Bukowski

I read this and teared up. I used to be like this, and I know exactly what it feels like.

BLUEBIRD

there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I’m not going
to let anybody see
you.

there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pour whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he’s
in there.

there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too tough for him,
I say, stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to screw up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?

there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too clever,
I only let him out at night sometimes
when everybody’s asleep.
I say,
I know that you’re there,
so don’t be
sad.
then I put him back,
but he’s singing a little
in there,
I haven’t quite let him
die
and we sleep together like that
with our
secret pact
and it’s nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don’t
weep,
do
you?