Confused

The telephone rings, unexpected ugliness,
I am not prepared.
My soul absorbs all you give;
cool dark anger, the injustice...
I wonder how it came to be,
when "I love you" became "well, fuck you".
The discontentment with vice-like grip,
one simple word can change everything.  

Your mother, your father, I am clearly not.  
I signed up for happiness.
Instead the unwanted gift of resentment,
forgotten pain, someone else's crime.
Like an acid bath it washes over me,
yet devours...  Little by little.
The background music of "what if it's not meant to be?"
I am confused.