

That simple phrase didn’t just motivate me. It rejuvenated me. It reminded me that every setback I’ve endured, every delay, and every heartbreak was not the end—but a test of endurance. Like Edison, like Tesla, and like countless others who stood firm when things fell apart, I now carry this quiet fire inside me.
No matter what the odds say—I’m able.
And that means everything.
I’m Able
Poem by Jet Mariano
I’m able—not because I’ve won,
But because I choose to rise with the sun.
I’m able—not from praise or might,
But by standing up when wrong feels right.
I’m able—through the tear-stained night,
To cradle hope and guard the light.
I’m able—though I walk alone,
To make the climb and call it home.
I’ve come to realize—I don’t need titles to prove my worth. I don’t measure myself by applause or position.
What I carry is truth. Lived truth. Quiet truth. Hard-earned truth.
And in those silent battles when no one’s watching, I remind myself:
I’m able.
And that means everything.
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