Often confusing

I

We are disgusting creatures.
In the mirror, I see not my features.
Just a lump of clay lopsided,
Mushed together bits and pieces from another.
The songs that lilt from my tongue, my mother.
The eyes that stare back my father.
All the things I wish I wasn't,
And yet that makes me so pleasant.
My hands their skill, my brother.
One I loath to see in this together.
Who am I, am I, am I?
Am I a person in your eye.
Or just this ball that couldn't roll,
A lopsided collection made whole.