The speaker is a made thing, and says so bluntly: bolts, wires, no "daisies and sweet smells." Being a machine seems to stand in for something larger. The poem suggests that this creation is shaped by the worst of the world: the oppression minorities faced, mixed with privilege handed to a lucky few. Even the speaker's knowledge is limited to what its makers believed would satisfy their "darkest desires."
The feeling that runs through it is loneliness. The speaker is taught to hide, to live alone in misery, and to exist for someone else's pleasure with no mind of its own. The line breaks near the end, especially the isolated word "without," make that emptiness felt on the page. The mood is bleak and bitter, but the closing repetition of "I was a creation" carries a flicker of defiance, as if the speaker insists on being acknowledged as something real, even while unloved and homeless.