This is a writing ritual for you, your bluebird, and the parts that have been guarding it all your life. Come—sit down for a while, and meet the bluebird in you.
Before we begin, let’s spend a moment in Bukowski’s world. Let his words find their way into your body. Read slowly. Linger. See what emerges.
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?
In Internal Family Systems (IFS), we hold that every part of you has a role—some protect, some carry pain, some hold joy. The bluebird in Bukowski’s poem feels like an exile: a tender, vulnerable part that longs to be seen but has learned it’s safer to stay hidden. The tough voice in the poem? That’s a protector, guarding the bluebird from a world that might not handle its softness well. And then there’s the firefighter—doing everything it can to drown out the bluebird’s song with whiskey, cigarettes, and sex.
This ritual is a way to let those parts speak—to understand their stories, to listen without rushing to fix, and maybe, to open the door a little wider for the bluebird to sing inside you.
Step 1 — Arriving
Read Bluebird once again, this time even slower. Let the linked music guide you. Notice which lines snag you—like burrs on a sweater. Follow their pull.
Close your eyes for a moment. Feel into your body. Where does the bluebird live? Your chest? Your throat? Somewhere else?
Write one sentence beginning with:
“Right now, the bluebird in me feels…”
Step 2 — Meeting the Protectors
Think of the parts in the poem that “don’t let anybody see” the bluebird. In your own life, who or what are those protectors?
Write in their voice—without editing or making them sound nicer than they are. Let them speak plainly.
Start with:
“I keep the bluebird hidden because…”
Keep going until they have nothing left to say.
Step 3 — Listening to the Bluebird
Now imagine you’ve asked the protectors to step aside for a few minutes (and if they can’t just yet, that’s okay—return to this when they’re ready).
The bluebird can speak now. Let it be as tender, frightened, joyful, or longing as it wants.
Fill in the lines:
“You don’t see me often, but here’s what I wish you knew…”
Step 4 — Self to Bluebird
In IFS, Self is the compassionate, calm, connected “you” at your core.
From that place, write a letter to your bluebird. You might acknowledge its beauty, thank the protectors for their care, and make a promise to create safe moments for it to emerge.
Start with:
“Dear Bluebird,
I want you to know…”
Step 5 — Closing
Return to your body. Take a deep breath. Sigh it out.
Write one final reflection:
“What I’m taking with me from this conversation is…”
Come back to this ritual again, if and when you need to. And when you do, may you carry both—the protectors and the bluebird—knowing there is room in you for them all.
If you’re curious about exploring this kind of inner work in IFS therapy, I offer sessions online. Visit my services page to learn more.