Etiquette.

[heslopian]

Walking on toothpicks
is a little like walking on cliché I think a comma should go here in order to stop this line from running into the next. Otherwise idiots like me will end up researching "cliche eggshells" on Google.
eggshells or the broken glass
of Annie Lennox etc. "Broken glass of Annie Lennox"? Not sure I understand this reference. But then I never was a big Eurythmics fan.
Except one gets splinters
in one's metaphorical feet.

I had to think a lot about this first stanza before I was happy with how much I understood it. I don't think you need to worry about your (metaphorical) feet getting (metaphorically) splintered on clichés

In reality and outside word-smithing; Why is this line on its own? I'm not quite sure if it's the conclusion of the previous stanza or the beginning of the next. Also, as “wordsmith” is one word, and “smithing” isn’t one at all, could you just as easily take out the dash and join them up?

we just tiptoe through the minefields
of the living room and kitchen.
Change the channel and start WW3 Again I think a comma here would help define the boundaries of the syntax and separate the conjunctions. Which is ponce speak for "the lines run into each other".
make oneself a brew and Hitler Comma.
in comparison, becomes a saint
of Austrian choirboys with Jewish parents. Pithy and amusing closer.

The proportion of hate apportioned is exponential
to the square root of selfish. Excellent line. Creative, insightful and snide all at once.
"you could have made us a cuppa you lazy bastard"
they whine and sit on their fat arses in unison.
Staring you down in the Harvey's
adverts on coronation street. "Coronation Street". I know it's only a shitty soap, but it still deserves capital letters
"Get us a Kitkat from the shops love.
Put the kids to bed love.
Wash the pots love.
Walk the dog love" Everything from the first bit of diction onwards to the end of this stanza is gold. The Harvey's advert before Corrie always makes me think of warm cosy evenings with my grandparents, who watch all the soaps, so having selfishness and lethargy thrown into the mix was an amusing jolt for me.

"No!" i scream "I".

"What's wrong?" they ask mutedly.
"You don't fucking live here" i reply. "I".

My neighbour gives me the key to next door;
"That's okay love, go turn the heating on and makes us a cuppa". Marvellous end. I want to punch this neighbour square in the face, even though I suspect she's old and frail.

Great poem Bilbo. I like the way you compare how writers must walk on tiptoe to avoid the pitfalls of cliché with the etiquette used in everyday life.