Keeping Both Hands Out

I cut my hair to turn the rest away, maybe.
I let him fill me with his sperm to make another baby.
So I can be distracted with a purpose and forget
The other life that tempts when my time's not utilized
For greater good than filling up my ego and someone else's bed.
He's the one I love; why must I scar myself to stay?
Will contentment leave me when my self-inflicted markings are no more?
I know what's most important, will my ego taunt me still?
Accepting wisdom I am given is challenge to receive.
My hands are out and I am willing, maybe.