How Social Media Determines Your Worth

My schedule says star. My bank statement says side hustle.
Or: The algorithm thinks I’m mid.

When I first started touring, getting booked was simple: be dope.
Do the work, show up, slam down the stage, and maybe someone would slide you $75 and a Subway sandwich.

The only numbers that mattered were the ones on the check (if you were lucky), your slot time, and how many people were still clapping at the end. You know — back when exposure was a scam and every artist would proudly proclaim:

“I don’t perform for exposure. Exposure don’t pay Georgia Power.”

Fast forward to 2025, and we’re out here fiending for exposure like it’s the plug.
We’re sliding into DMs like: “Hey, I’d love to be on your podcast.”
Submitting to platforms, tagging hosts, reposting episodes we’re not even on.
We’re practically begging for exposure... just to get the opportunity to be exploited later.

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Now, the exposure does pay Georgia Power — but only if you go viral.
Only if the algorithm selects you. Only if your audience engages in deep enough gulps, clicks, and saves to trigger a dopamine rush in the backend of someone else's platform.

Let’s not lie to ourselves.
Social media is the new currency.
Not in a “look at me, I’m living my best life” way.
In a “you can’t even sit at the table without receipts” way.

And I’m not talking about 10,000 followers.
Try 3,500 and PR still looking at you sideways.

I had a serious meeting today with my third PR team — yes, third — and once again, they told me the truth I’ve been dodging like a bill collector:

“We can pitch all day. But if you don’t have the numbers, they’re not going to bite.”

“They” being the media outlets.
“They” being the podcast hosts.
“They” being the booking agents for daytime TV, streaming shows, and conference keynotes.

“They”... meaning the decision-makers who want to see if you’ve got an audience before they give you a mic.

Even in the Spoken Word-Poetry world — a category so fresh it still smells like ambition — the game is shifting.
It’s no longer enough to be good.
You have to be good AND visible.

When the new GRAMMY category was introduced a few years ago, the career poets — the ones who had been holding it down in the trenches for 20+ years — knew what was about to happen.
We whispered to each other at festivals and in green rooms:

“You know this category’s about to get flooded, right?”

And we were right.

First, the heavyweights: producers, singers, spoken word legends making strategic albums to get their gold.
Then came the celebrity poets, the ones who could pick up a mic on Tuesday and have a co-sign by Friday.
And now? Now we’re competing with fully backed campaigns, manager-managed poets, and well-produced albums by people who couldn’t even tell you what a chapbook is.

No shade.
But it’s real.

You might have just as much talent, just as many resources, and a fire album…
…but without followers, without reach, without proof of influence, the doors don’t open the same.
Even the poetry community now checks your numbers before they check your pen.

Let me make this personal:
There’s a podcast I love. A dope, culturally relevant, Atlanta-based platform I would love to be a guest on.
I’ve supported them, reposted their clips, and watched them blow up.

I reached out.
Their assistant sent over the rate sheet.

A rate sheet.

I had to sit with that.
Because I’m a two-time Grammy-nominated Spoken Word-Poet.
I’m a TEDx speaker.
I’ve shared stages with household names.

But to them, I’m not A-list enough.
Why?
Because my IG doesn’t say so.

This is what it means to be seen as successful, while still being asked to prove you’re worthy of the spotlight — or worse, pay to stand in it.

And no, I didn’t pay.
But did I think about it? Absolutely.
Because that’s the game now.
Pay to play. Or pay a publicist so you don’t have to.

And guess what happens then?

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Your stipend goes up to cover the cost of PR.
Then the promoter pushes back.
“Why are your rates so high?”
Because visibility costs money, boo.
And the vicious cycle continues:

I need PR to get gigs.
I need gigs to afford PR.
And I need exposure to get either.

Being a Spoken Word-Poet in this era feels like trying to prove your worth in a room full of deaf people with their backs turned.

It doesn’t matter if you’re a champion of the pen.
It matters if your analytics say you’re trending.

Which brings me to today.
September 16, 2025.

TEDx just dropped the speaker announcement, and guess who’s on the roster?

Me.
Queen Sheba.
Two-time Grammy-nominated poet.
Founder of Poetry vs. Hip-Hop®.
Cultural curator.
Professor.
Keynote speaker.
TEDx Georgia College.

It’s official.

And yet — I’m still checking my account balance before pumping gas.

Seen.
Respected.
And still arguing about the grocery budget.

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You probably feel like I do most days:

  • Like a star to your peers and a stranger to the algorithm.

  • Like you’ve made it — but nobody told your bank account.

  • Like you finally got the keys to the industry… but you still have to jiggle the lock.

And if you’re wondering what to do?
I don’t have the answer.
Yet.

But here’s what I do know:

Your worth is not your follower count.
But if you want to get booked — better feed the algorithm like it owes you rent.

Let’s get these numbers up.
Or at least pretend to have a social media intern.
Or date one.

– Queen Sheba

P.S. I decided to leave my love in RDU. I’ll keep the details private. I didn’t know I was going until I was driving down 85S. I was headed to a gig in the mountains, and afterward I realized I had hit rock bottom. I packed a small overnight bag and my dog and had planned on returning the next day, as ‘normal’. The host offered me a 2nd night, and God made the decision clear to me. I was tired of what I had accepted as ‘normal’.

We were already broken up & I was suffering. Theeee Claudia Rankin told me-to my face- once “go where you are loved”; and I realized I was no longer loved or being treated like I am loved, at “home” in RDU. It was closer for me to drive to Atlanta than it was to go back to RDU. And go there for what? I can only take so many “I don’t want to be with you anymore”, to continue to live in the guest room and watch the person I thought was going to be the love of my life continue to act like I don’t exist? 

iIt’s cool. I’m not a victim. I did not create these circumstances by myself, but, as my brother Micah told me, it is my responsibility to get myself out of them. First — I will never doubt god’s voice, my intuition, discernment — again. 2nd — I have a community that loves me and resources. And I am not too proud to ask for help. 

If you know someone renting a pet-friendly space in Atlanta metro — please ask them to dm me on ig or Facebook (yes — I have a house, someone is renting it, officially, not friends of mine). i found an affordable and available place i love, and I need help raising cash fast to possibly move in there and/or rent a panel van to just get my clothes, awards and coats. The new space won't fit the furniture I brought into our lives when I thought we were playing merge.

ive been crashing with friends and my faithful fur baby is literally my road dog - sleeping in the back of the jeep when the friends aren’t dog lovers.

i’m overwhelmed with anxiety and depression. i’m supposed to be memorizing my TEDx speech, promoting pvhh 10th anniversary weekend & grammy voting starting next week! my daily win is that i show up - take care of myself and my beautiful shepherd and continue with my amazing team for my grammy considered album and pvhh show coming up. Yes. I want to give up. but - i can’t. won’t.

My goal is to raise $5000 by this saturday sept 27th 2025, for my deposit and moving van.

if you have a speaking gig - i’d love to contribute my gifts. please email my manager, gavin - bookingqueensheba@gmail.com

If you can contribute to my moving fund - i am grateful for any love offerings:

Cashapp - $poetryvshiphop2015
zelle - shebasjunk@gmail.com
PayPal - queensheba811@gmail.com
venmo - @thequeensheba

Thank you in advance.

Love, Queen Sheba

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Toxic Love vs. True Love (and the 10 steps to crawl back from wherever the hell you lost yourself)